





THE LIBRARY 
OF 
THE UNIVERSITY 
OF CALIFORNIA 
LOS ANGELES 


Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2008 with funding from 
Microsoft Corporation 


~ http:/www.archive.org/details/countrydoctorlem00balz 


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BELEN JIMRRIAGE 


“WELL, WHAT IS IT?” BEN: 
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Hoe DE Bee Ae 


THE 


Pountey WOCTOR 


(LE MEDECIN DE CAMPAGNE ) 


AND OTHER STORIES 


ELLEN MARRIAGE 


WITH A PREFACE BY 


GEORGE SAINTSBURY 


yd 


PHILADELPHIA 
THE GEBBIE PUBLISHING CO., Ltd. 


1898 





CONTENTS. 


PREFACE - : : . ; : . . . 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR 


I. THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN e . . ° 
II. A DOCTOR’S ROUND. P : ; 5 : : 
III. THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE A é : a 


IV. THE COUNTRY DOCTOR’S CONFESSION 


V. ELEGIES 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY (L’ Interdiction) 


THE ATHEIST’S MASS 


YORTEE 
> a o ing pig 


PAGE 





LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 


‘““WELL, WHAT IS IT?” BENASSIS ASKED . : : Frontispiece 
PAGE 
‘““M. BENASSIS WENT OVER THERE”. : : 3 ; 5 Yh@) 


AN OLD LABORER MAKING HIS WAY ALONG THE ROAD, IN COM- 
PANY WITH AN AGED WOMAN . . . . ° > 99 


THE MAN OF WHOM HE WAS IN SEARCH SOON APPEARED ON THE 


TOP OF A PERPENDICULAR CRAG . . . . - 139 


I TOOK HER UP BEHIND ME IN THE SADDLE . . ° - 255 


Drawn by W. Boucher, 





PREFACE. 


In hardly any of his books, with the possible exception of 
“‘Eugénie Grandet,’’ does Balzac seem to have taken a greater 
interest than in ‘‘ The Country Doctor ;’’ and the fact of this 
interest, together with the merit and intensity of the book in 
each case, is, let it be repeated, a valid argument against those 
who would have it that there was something essentially sinister 
both in his genius and in his character. 

‘<The Country Doctor’’ was an early book; it was pub- 
lished in 1833, a date of which there is an interesting mark in 
the selection of the name ‘‘ Evelina,’’ the name of Madame 
Hanska, whom Balzac had just met, for the lost Jansenist love 
of Benassis; and it had been on the stocks for a considerable 
time. It is also noteworthy, as lying almost entirely outside 
the general scheme of the ‘‘Comédie Humaine’’ as far as 
personages go. Its chief characters in the remarkable, if not 
absolutely impeccable, réfertoire of MM. Cerfberr and Chris- 
tophe (they have, a rare thing with them, missed Agathe the 
forsaken mistress) have no references appended to their 
articles, except to the book itself; and I cannot remember 
that any of the more generally pervading dramatis persone of 
the Comedy makes even an incidental appearance here. The 
book is as isolated as its scene and subject—I might have 
added, as its own beauty, which is singular and unique, nor 
wholly easy to give a critical account of. The minor charac- 
ters and episodes, with the exception of the wonderful story 
or legend of Napoleon by Private Goguelat, and the private 
himself, are neither of the first interest, nor always carefully 


(ix) 


x PREFACE. 


worked out: La Fosseuse, for instance, is a very tantalizingly 
unfinished study, of which it is nearly certain that Balzac must 
at some time or other have meant to make much more than 
he has made ; Genestas, excellent as far as he goes, is not much 
more than a type; and there is nobody else in the foreground 
at all except Benassis himself. 

It is, however, beyond all doubt in the very subordination 
of these other characters to Benassis, and in the skilful group- 
ing of the whole as background and adjunct to him, that the 
appeal of the book as art consists. From that point of view 
there are grounds for regarding it as the finest of the author’s 
work in the simple style, the least indebted to superadded 
ornament or to mere variety. The dangerous expedient of a 
récit, of which the eighteenth-century novelists were so fond, 
has never been employed with more successful effect than in 
the confession of Benassis, at once the climax and the centre 
of the story. And one thing which strikes us immediately 
about this confession is the universality of its humanity and its 
strange freedom from merely national limitations. To very 
few French novelists—to few even of those who are generally 
credited with a much softer mould and a much purer morality 
than Balzac is popularly supposed to have been able to boast 
—would inconstancy to a mistress have seemed a fault which 
could be reasonably punished, which could be even reasonably 
represented as having been punished, in fact, by the refusal of 
an honest girl’s love in the first place. Nor would many have 
conceived as possible, or have been able to represent in life- 
like colors, the lifelong penance which Benassis imposes on 
himself. The tragic end, indeed, is more in their general 
way, but they would seldom have known how to lead up to it. 

In almost all ways Balzac has saved himself from the dangers 
incident to his plan in this book after a rather miraculous 
fashion. ‘The Goguelat myth may seem disconnected, and he 
did as a matter of fact once publish it separately ; yet it sets 
off (in the same sort of felicitous manner of which Shake- 


PREFACE, xi 


speare’s clown-scenes and others are the capital examples in 
literature) both the slightly matter-of-fact details of the beati- 
fication of the valley and the various minute sketches of places 
and folk, and the almost superhuman goodness of Benassis, 
and his intensely and piteously human suffering and remorse. 
It is like the red cloak in a group; it lights, warms, inspirits 
the whole picture. 

And perhaps the most remarkable thing of all is the way in 
which Balzac in this story, so full of goodness of feeling, of 
true religion (for if Benassis is not an ostensible practiser of 
religious rites, he avows his orthodoxy in theory, and more 
than justifies it in practice), has almost entirely escaped 
the sentimentality f/vs unorthodoxy of similar work in the 
eighteenth century, and the sentimentality #/us orthodoxy of 
similar work in the nineteenth. Benassis no doubt plays 
Providence in a manner and with a success which it is rarely 
given to mortal man to achieve ; but we do not feel either the 
approach to sham, or the more than approach to gush, with 
which similar handling on the part of Dickens too often af- 
fects some of us. The sin and the punishment of Benassis, 
the thoroughly human figures of Genestas and the rest, save 
the situation from this and other drawbacks. We are not in 
the Cockaigne of perfectibility, where Marmontel and God- 
win disport themselves ; we are in a very practical place, where 
time-bargains in barley are made, and you pay the respectable, 
if not lavish, board of ten francs per day for entertainment to 
man and beast. 

And yet, explain as we will, there will always remain some- 
thing inexplicable in the appéal of such a book as ‘ The 
‘ Country Doctor,’’ This helps, and that, and the other; we 
can see what change might have damaged the effect, and what 
have endangered it altogether. We must, of course, acknowl- 
edge that as it is there are Jongueurs (tedious stretches), intru- 
sions of Saint Simonian jargon, passages of ga/imatias (nonsense) 
and of preaching. But of what in strictness produces the good 


xii PREFACE. 


effect we can only say one thing, and that is, it was the genius 
of Balzac working as it listed and as it knew how to work. 

The book was originally published by Mme. Delaunay in 
September, 1833, in two volumes and thirty-six chapters with 
headings. Next year it was republished in four volumes by 
Werdet, and the last fifteen chapters were thrown together 
into four. In 1836 it reappeared with dedication and date, 
but with the divisions further reduced to seven; being those 
which here appear, with the addition of two, ‘‘ La Fosseuse ”’ 
and ‘‘Propos de Braves Gens,’’ between ‘‘A Travers Champs’”’ 
and ‘‘Le Napoléon du Peuple.’’ These two were removed in 
1839, when it was published in a single volume by Charpen- 
tier. In all these issues the book was independent. It be- 
came a ‘*‘Scéne de la Vie de Campagne’”’ in 1846, and was 
then admitted into the ‘‘ Comédie.’’ The separate issues of 
Goguelat’s story referred to above made their appearance first 
in Z’ Europe Littéraire for June 19, 1833 (defore the book 
form), and then with the imprint of a sort of syndicate of 
publishers in 1842. 

Of the two short stories, ‘‘ The Atheist’s Mass’’ is the 
greatest. Its extreme brevity makes it almost impossible for 
the author to indulge in those digressions from which he never 
could entirely free himself when he allowed himself much 
room. We do not hear more of the inward character of Des- 
plein than is necessary to make us appreciate the touching 
history which is the centre of the anecdote; the thing in 
general could not be presented at greater advantage than it is. 
Nor in itself could it be much, if at all, better. As usual, it is 
more or less of a personal confession. Balzac, it must always 
be remembered, was himself pretty definitely ‘‘ on the side of 
the angels.’’ As a Frenchman, as aman with a strong 
eighteenth-century tincture in him, asa student of Rabelais, 
as one not too much given to regard nature and fate through 
rose-colored spectacles, as a product of more or less godless 
education (for his schooldays came before the neo-Catholic 


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THE COMEDIE HUMAINE 





PREFACE. xiii 


revival), and in many other ways, he was not exactly an or- 
thodox person. But he had no ideas foreign to orthodoxy ; 
and neither in his novels, nor in his letters, nor elsewhere, 
would it be possible to find a private expression of unbelief. 
And such a story as this is worth a bookseller’s storehouse full 
of tracts, coming as it does from Honoré de Balzac. 

‘¢ The Commission in Lunacy ’’ is sufficiently different, but 
it is almost equally good in its own way. It is indeed impos- 
sible to say that there is not in the manner, though perhaps 
there may be none in the fact, of the Marquis d’Espard’s resti- 
tution and the rest of it a little touch of the madder side of 
Quixotism ; and one sees all the speculative and planning 
Balzac in that notable scheme of the great work on China, 
which brought in far, far more, I fear, than any work on 
China ever has or is likely to bring in to its devisers. But 
the conduct of Popinot in his interview with the Marquis is 
really admirable. ‘The great scenes of fictitious finesse do not 
always ‘‘come off ;’’ we do not invariably find ourselves ex- 
periencing that sense of the ability of the characters which the 
novelist appears to entertain, and expects us to entertain like- 
wise. But this is admirable; it is, with Bernard’s ‘‘ Le 
Gendre,’’ perhaps the very best thing of the kind to be found 
anywhere. These two stories, ‘‘ The Commission in Lunacy ’”’ 
and ‘‘ The Atheist’s Mass,’’ would, if they existed entirely by 
themselves, and if we knew nothing of their author, nor any- 
thing about him, suffice to show any intelligent critic that 
genius of no ordinary kind had passed by there. 

G. S. 





THe COUNTRY DOCTOR 


For a wounded heart—shadow and silence.” 
To my Mother. 


I 
THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 


On a lovely spring morning in the year 1829, a man of 
fifty or thereabouts was wending his way on horseback along 
the mountain road that leads to a large village near the Grande 
Chartreuse. This village is the market-town of a populous 
canton that lies within the limits of a valley of some consid- 
erable length. The melting of the snows had filled the 
boulder-strewn bed of the torrent (often dry) that flows through 
this valley, which is closely shut in between two parallel 
mountain barriers, above which the peaks of Savoy and of 
Dauphiné tower on every side. 

All the scenery of the country that lies between the chain 
of the two Mauriennes is very much alike; yet here in the 
district through which the stranger was traveling there are 
soft undulations of the land, and varying effects of light which 
might be sought for elsewhere in vain. Sometimes the 
valley, suddenly widening, spreads out a soft irregularly- 
shaped carpet of grass before the eyes; a meadow constantly 
watered by the mountain streams, that keep it fresh and green 
at all seasons of the year. Sometimesa roughly-built sawmill 
appears in a picturesque position, with its stacks of long pine 
trunks with the bark peeled off, and its mill stream, brought 
from the bed of the torrent in great square wooden pipes, with 
masses of dripping filament issuing from every crack. Little 

(1) 


2 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


cottages, scattered here and there, with their gardens full of 
blossoming fruit trees, call up the ideas that are aroused by 
-the sight of industrious poverty; while the thought of ease, 
secured after long years of toil, is suggested by some 
larger houses farther on, with their red roofs of flat round 
tiles, shaped like the scales of a fish. There is no door, 
moreover, that does not duly exhibit a basket in which the 
cheeses are hung up to dry. Every roadside and every croft 
is adorned with vines; which here, as in Italy, they train to 
grow about dwarf elm trees, whose leaves are stripped off to 
feed the cattle. 

Nature, in her caprice, has brought the sloping hills on 
either side so near together in some places that there is no 
room for fields, or buildings, or peasants’ huts. Nothing lies 
between them but the torrent, roaring over its waterfalls be- 
tween two lofty walls of granite that rise above it, their sides 
covered with the leafage of tall beeches and dark fir trees to 
the height of a hundred feet. The trees, with their different 
kinds of foliage, rise up straight and tall, fantastically colored 
by patches of lichen, forming magnificent colonnades, with a 
line of straggling hedgerow of guelder rose, briar rose, box 
and arbutus above and below the roadway at their feet. 
The subtle perfume of this undergrowth was mingled just 
then with scents from the wild mountain region and with 
the aromatic fragrance of young larch shoots, budding poplars, 
and resinous pines. 

Here and there a wreath of mist about the heights some- 
times hid and sometimes gave glimpses of the gray crags, that 
seemed as dim and vague as the soft flecks of cloud dispersed 
among them. The whole face of the country changed every 
moment with the changing light in the sky; the hues of the 
mountains, the soft shades of their lower slopes, the very 
shape of the valleys seemed to vary continually. <A ray of 
sunlight through the tree stems, a clear space made by nature 
in the woods, or a landslip here and there, coming as a sur- 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 3 


prise to make a contrast in the foreground, made up an 
endless series of pictures delightful to see amid the silence, 
at the time of year when ail things grow young, and when 
the sun fills a cloudless heaven with a blaze of light. In 
short, it was a fair land—it was the land of France! 

The traveler was a tall man, dressed from head to foot ina 
suit of blue cloth, which must have been brushed just as 
carefully every morning as the glossy coat of his horse. He 
held himself firm and erect in the saddle like an old cavalry 
officer. Even if his black cravat and doeskin gloves, the 
pistols that filled his holsters, and the valise securely fastened 
to the crupper behind him had not combined to mark him out 
as a soldier, the air of unconcern that sat on his face, his 
regular features (scarred though they were with the smallpox), 
his determined manner, self-reliant expression, and the way 
he held his head, all revealed the habits acquired through 
military discipline, of which a soldier can never quite divest 
himself, even after he has retired from service into private 
life. 

Any other traveler would have been filled with wonder at — 
the loveliness of this Alpine region, which grows so bright 
and smiling as it becomes merged in the great valley systems 
of southern France; but the officer, who no doubt had previ- 
ously traversed a country across which the French armies had 
been drafted in the course of Napoleon’s wars, enjoyed the 
view before him without appearing to be surprised by the 
many changes that swept across it. It would seem that Napo- 
leon has extinguished in his soldiers the sensation of wonder ~ 
for an impassive face is a sure token by which you may know 
the men who served erewhile under the short-lived yet death- 
less eagles of the great Emperor. The traveler was, in fact, 
one of those soldiers (seldom met with nowadays) whom shot 
and shell have respected, although they have borne their part 
on every battlefield where Napoleon commanded. 

There had been nothing unusual in his life. He had fought 


4 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


valiantly in the ranks as a simple and loyal soldier, doing his 
duty as faithfully by night as by day, and whether in or out 
of his officer’s sight. He had never dealt a sabre stroke in 
vain, and was incapable of giving one too many. If he wore 
at his buttonhole the rosette of an officer of the Legion of 
Honor, it was because the unanimous voice of his regiment 
had singled him out as the man who best deserved to receive 
it after the battle of Borodino. 

He belonged to that small minority of undemonstrative 
retiring natures, who are always at peace with themselves, and 
who are conscious of a feeling of humiliation at the mere 
thought of making a request, no matter what its nature may 
be. So promotion had come to him tardily, and by virtue of 
the slowly-working laws of seniority. He had been madea 
sub-lieutenant in 1802, but it was not until 1829 that he 
became a major, in spite of the grayness of his mustaches. 
His life had been so blameless that no man in the army, not 
even the general himself, could approach him without an 
involuntary feeling of respect. It is possible that he was not 
forgiven for this indisputable superiority by those who ranked 
above him; but, on the other hand, there was not one of his 
men that did not feel for him something of the affection of 
children for a good mother. For them he knew how to be 
at once indulgent and severe. He himself had also once 
served in the ranks, and knew the sorry joys and gaily-endured 
hardships of the soldier’s lot. He knew the errors that may 
be passed over and the faults that must be punished in his 
men—‘‘his children,’’? as he always called them—and when 
on campaign he readily gave them leave to forage for provi- 
sions for man or horse among the wealthier classes. 

His own personal history lay buried beneath the deepest 
reserve. Like almost every military man in Europe, he had 
only seen the world through cannon smoke, or in the brief 
intervals of peace that occurred so seldom during the Em- 
peror’s continual wars with the rest of Europe. Had he or 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 5 


had he not thought of marriage? The question remained 
unsettled. Although no one doubted that Commandant 
Genestas had made conquests during his sojourn in town after 
town and country after country where he had taken part 
in the festivities given and received by the officers, yet no 
one knew this for a certainty. There was no_ prudery 
about him; he would not decline to join a pleasure party ; 
he in no way offended against military standards ; but when 
questioned as to his affairs of the heart, he either kept silence 
or answered with a jest. To the words, ‘‘ How about you, 
commandant ?’’ addressed to him by an officer over the wine, 
his reply was, ‘‘ Pass the bottle, gentlemen.”’ 

M. Pierre Joseph Genestas was an unostentatious kind of 
Bayard. There was nothing romantic nor picturesque about 
him—he was too thoroughly commonplace. His ways of 
living were those of a well-to-do man. Although he had 
nothing beside his pay, and his pension was all that he had to 
look to in the future, the major always kept two years’ pay 
untouched, and never spent his allowances, like some shrewd 
old men of business with whom cautious prudence has almost 
become a mania. He was so little of a gambler that if, when 
in company, some one was wanted to cut in or take a bet at 
écarté, he usually fixed his eyes on his boots; but though he 
did not allow himself any extravagances, he conformed in 
every way to custom. 

His uniforms lasted longer than those of any other officer in 
his regiment, as a consequence of the sedulously careful habits 
that somewhat straitened means had so instilled into him, that 
they had come to be like a second nature. Perhaps he might 
have been suspected of meanness if it had not been for the 
fact that with wonderful disinterestedness and all a comrade’s 
readiness, his purse would be opened for some harebrained 
boy who had ruined himself at cards or by some other folly. 
He did a service of this kind with such thoughtful tact, that 
it seemed as though he himself had at one time lost heavy 


is 


6 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR, 


sums at play; he never considered that he had any right to 
control the actions of his debtor; he never made mention of 
the loan. He was the child of his company ; he was alone in 

™the world, so he had adopted the army for his fatherland, and 
the regiment for his family. Very rarely, therefore, did any 

_ one seek the motives underlying his praiseworthy turn for 
thrift ; for it pleased others, for the most part, to set it down 
to a not unnatural wish to increase the amount of the savings 
that were to render his old age comfortable. Till the eve of 
his promotion to the rank of lieutenant-colonel of cavalry it 
was fair to suppose that it was his ambition to retire in the 
course of some campaign with a colonel’s epaulettes and 
pension. 

If Genestas’ name came up when the officers gossipped 
after drill, they were wont to classify him among the men 
who begin with taking the good-conduct prize at school, and 
who, throughout the term of their natural lives, continue to 
be punctilious, conscientious and passionless—as good as white 
bread, and just as insipid. ‘Thoughtful minds, however, re- 
garded him very differently. Not seldom it would happen 
that a glance, or an expression as full of significance as the 
utterance of a savage, would drop from him and bear witness 
to past storms in his soul; and a careful study of his placid 
brow revealed a power of stifling down and repressing his pas- 
sions into inner depths, that had been dearly bought by a 
lengthy acquaintance with the perils and disastrous hazards 
of war. An officer who had only just joined the regiment, 
the son of a peer of France, had said one day of Genestas 
that he would have made one of the most conscientious of 
priests or the most upright of tradesmen. 

“¢ Add, the least of a courtier among marquises,’’ put in 
Genestas, scanning the young puppy, who did not know that 
his commandant could overhear him. 

There was a burst of laughter at the words, for the lieu- 
tenant’s father cringed to all the powers that be; he was a 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 7 


man of supple intellect, accustomed to jump with every 
change of government, and his son took after him. 

Men like Genestas are met with now and again in the 
French army; natures that show themselves to be wholly 
great at need, and relapse into their ordinary simplicity when 
the action is over; men that are little mindful of fame and 
reputation, and utterly forgetful of danger. Perhaps there 
are many more of them than the shortcomings of our own 
characters will allow us to imagine. Yet, for all that, any 
one who believed that Genestas was perfect would be strangely 
deceiving himself. The major was suspicious, given to violent 
outbursts of anger, and apt to be tiresome in argument ; he 
was full of national prejudices, and, above all things, would 
insist that he was in the right when he was, as a matter of 
fact, in the wrong. He retained the liking for good wine 
that he had acquired in the ranks. If he rose from a banquet 
with all the gravity befitting his position, he seemed serious 
and pensive, and had no mind at such times to admit any one 
into his confidence. 

Finally, although he was sufficiently acquainted with the 
customs of society and with the laws of politeness, to which 
he conformed as rigidly as if they had been military regula- 
tions; though he had real mental power, both natural and 
acquired ; and although he had mastered the art of handling 
men, the science of tactics, the theory of sabre play, and the 
mysteries of the farrier’s craft, his learning had been pro- 
digiously neglected. He knew in a hazy kind of way that 
Cesar was a Roman consul, or an emperor, and that Alexan- 
der was either a Greek or a Macedonian ;-he would have 
conceded either quality or origin in both cases without dis- 
cussion. If the conversation turned on science or history, he 
was wont to become thoughtful, and to confine his share in it 
to little approving nods, like a man who by dint of profound 
thought has arrived at scepticism. 

When, at Schénbrunn, on May 13, 1809, Napoleon wrote 


8 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


the bulletin addressed to the Grand Army, then the masters 
of Vienna, in which he said that “ke Medea, the Austrian 
princes had slain thetr children with their own hands ; Genestas, 
who had been recently made a captain, did not wish to com- 
promise his newly conferred dignity by asking who Medea 
was ; he relied upon Napoleon’s character, and felt quite sure 
that the Emperor was incapable of making any announcement 
not in proper form to the Grand Army and the House of 
Austria. So he thought that Medea was some archduchess 
whose conduct laid her open to criticism. Still, as the mat- 
ter might have some bearing on the art of war, he felt uneasy 
about the Medea of the bulletin until a day arrived, when 
Mlle. Raucourt revived the tragedy of Medea. The captain 
saw the placard, and did not fail to repair to the Théatre 
Frangais that evening, to see the celebrated actress in her 
mythological rdle, concerning which he gained some informa- 
~ tion from his neighbors. 

A man, however, who as a private soldier had possessed 
sufficient force of character to learn to read, write, and 
cipher, could clearly understand that as a captain he ought to 
continue his education. So from this time forth he read new 
books and romances with avidity, in this way gaining a half- 
knowledge, of which he made a very fair use. He went so 
far in his gratitude to his teachers as to undertake the defence 
of Pigault-Lebrun, remarking that in his opinion he was 
instructive and not seldom profound. 

This officer, whose acquired practical wisdom did not 
allow him to make any journey in vain, had just come from 
Grenoble, and was on his way to the Grande Chartreuse, after 
obtaining on the previous evening a week’s leave of absence 
from his colonel. He had not expected that the journey 
would be a long one; but when, league after league, he had 
been misled as to the distance by the lying statements of the 
peasants, he thought it would be prudent not to venture any 

~ farther without fortifying the inner man. Small as were his 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 9 


chances of finding any housewife in her dwelling at a time 
when every one was hard at work in the fields, he stopped be- 
fore a little cluster of cottages that stood about a piece of land 
common to all of them, more or less describing a square, 
which was open to all comers. 

The surface of the soil thus held in conjoint ownership was 
hard and carefully swept, but intersected by open drains. 
Roses, ivy, and tall grasses grew over the cracked and dis- 
jointed walls. Some rags were drying on a miserable cur- 
rant bush that stood at the entrance of the square. A pig 
wallowing in a heap of straw was the first inhabitant encount- 
ered by Genestas. At the sound of horsehoofs the creature 
grunted, raised its head, and put a great black cat to flight. 
A young peasant girl, who was carrying a bundle of grass on 
her head, suddenly appeared, followed at a distance by four 
little brats, clad in rags, it is true, but vigorous, sunburned, 
picturesque, bold-eyed, and riotous; thorough little imps, 
looking like angels. The sun shone down with an indescrib- 
able purifying influence upon the air, the wretched cottages, 
the heaps of refuse, and the unkempt little crew. 

The soldier asked whether it was possible to obtain a cup 
of milk. All the answer the girl made him was a hoarse cry. 
An old woman suddenly appeared on the threshold of one of 
the cabins, and the young. peasant girl passed on into a cow- 
shed, with a gesture that pointed out the aforesaid old woman,~— 
towards whom Genestas went ; taking care at the same time 
to keep a tight hold on his horse, lest the children who already 
were running about under his hoofs should be hurt. He 
repeated his request, with which the housewife flatly refused — 
to comply. She would not, she said, disturb the cream on 
the pans full of milk from which butter was to be made. The 
officer overcame this objection by undertaking to repay her 
amply for the wasted cream, and then tied up his horse at the 
door, and went inside the cottage. 

The four children belonging to the woman all appeared to 


i0 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


be of the same age—an odd circumstance which struck the 
commandant. A fifth clung about her skirts; a weak, pale, 
sickly-looking child, who doubtless needed more care than 
the others, and who on that account was the best beloved, the 
Benjamin of the family. 

Genestas seated himself in a corner by the fireless hearth. 
A sublime symbol met his eyes on the high mantleshelf above 
him—a colored plaster cast of the Virgin with the Child 
Jesus in her arms. Bare earth made the flooring of the cot- 
tage. It had been beaten level in the first instance, but in 
course of time it had grown rough and uneven, so that 
though it was clean, its ruggedness was not unlike that of the 
magnified rind of an orange. A sabot filled with salt, a fry- 
ing-pan, and a large kettle hung inside the chimney. The 
farther end of the room was completely filled by a four-post 
bedstead, with a scalloped valance for decoration. The walls 
were black ; there was an opening to admit the light above 
the worm-eaten door; and here and there were a few stools 
consisting of rough blocks of beechwood, each set upon 
three wooden legs ; a hutch for bread, a large wooden dipper, 
a bucket and some earthen milk-pans, a spinning-wheel on the 
top of the bread-hutch, and a few wicker mats for draining 
cheeses. Such were the ornaments and household furniture of 
the wretched dwelling. 

The officer, who had been avearbed in flicking his riding- 
whip against the floor, presently became a witness to a piece 
of by-play, all unsuspicious though he was that any drama 
was about to unfold itself. No sooner had the old woman, 
followed by her scald-headed Benjamin, disappeared through 
a door that led into her dairy, than the four children, after 
having stared at the soldier as long as they wished, drove 
away the pig by way of a beginning. ‘This animal, their 
accustomed playmate, having come as far as the threshold, the 
little brats made such an energetic attack upon him that he 
was forced to beat a hasty retreat. When the enemy had 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 11 


been driven without, the children besieged the latch of a door 
that gave away before their united efforts, and slipped out of 
the worn staple that held it ; and finally they bolted into a 
kind of fruit-loft, where they very soon fell to munching the 
dried plums, to the amusement of the commandant, who 
watched this spectacle. The old woman, with the face like 
parchment and the dirty ragged clothing, came back at this 
moment, with a jug of milk for her visitor in her hand. 

“©Oh! you good-for-nothings !’’ cried she. 

She ran to the children, clutched an arm of each child, 
bundled them into the room, and carefully closed the door of 
her storehouse of plenty. But she did not take their prunes 
away from them, 

** Now, then, be good, my pets! If one did not look after 
them,’’ she went on, looking at Genestas, ‘‘ they would eat up 
the whole lot of prunes, the madcaps!”’ 

Then she seated herself on a three-legged stool, drew the 
little weakling between her knees, and began to comb and 
wash his head with a woman’s skill and with motherly assid- 
uity. The four small thieves hung about. Some of them 
stood, others leaned against the bed or the bread-hutch. They 
gnawed their prunes without saying a word, but they kept 
their sly and mischievous eyes fixed upon the stranger. In 
spite of grimy countenances and noses that stood in need of 
wiping, they all looked strong and healthy. 

‘¢ Are they your children?’’ the soldier asked the old 
woman. 


“« Asking your pardon, sir, they are charity-children. They 


give me three francs a month and a pound’s weight of soap 
for each of them.’’ 

‘¢ But it must cost you twice as much as that to keep them, 
good woman ?”’ 

‘¢That is just what M. Benassis tells me, sir; but if other 
folk will board the children for the same money, one has to 
make it do. Nobody wants the children, but for all that 


_ 


12 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


there is a good deal of performance to go through before they 
will let us have them. When the milk we give them comes to 
nothing, they cost us scarcely anything. Besides that, three 
francs is a great deal, sir; there are fifteen francs coming in, 
to say nothing of the five pounds’ weight of soap. In our 
part of the world you would simply have to wear your life 

-__ out before you would make ten sous a day,’’ responded the 
good woman. 

‘*Then you have some land of your own?’’ asked the 
commandant. 

—‘*No, sir. I had some land once when my husband was 
alive; since he died I have done so badly that I had to 
sell it.’ 

‘Why, how do you reach the year’s end without debts? ’”’ 
Genestas went on, ‘‘when you bring up children for a live- 
lihood and wash and feed them on two sous a day ?”’ 

“‘ Well, we never get to St. Sylvester’s Day without debt, 
sir.’? She went on without ceasing to comb the child’s hair. 
«‘But so it is—Providence helps us out. I have a couple of 
cows. Then my daughter and I do some gleaning at harvest- 
time, and in winter we pick up firewood. Then at night we 
spin. Ah! we never want to see another winter like this last 
one, that is certain! I owe the miller seventy-five francs for 
flour. Luckily he is M. Benassis’ miller. M. Benassis, ah ! 
he is a friend to poor people. He has never asked for his due 
from anybody, and he will not begin with us. Besides, our cow 
has a calf, and that will set us a bit straighter.”’ 

The four orphans for whom the old woman’s affection 
represented all human guardianship had come to an end of 
their prunes. As their foster-mother’s attention was taken up 
by the officer with whom she was chatting, they seized the 
opportunity, and banded themselves together in a compact 
file, so as to make yet another assault upon the latch of the 
door that stood between them and the tempting heap of dried 
plums. They advanced to the attack, not like French soldiers, 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 13 


but as stealthily as Germans, impelled by frank animal greedi- 
ness. 

‘Oh! you little rogues! Do you want to finish them 
“upr’’ 

The old woman rose, caught the strongest of the four, ad- 
ministered a gentle slap on the back, and flung him out of the 
house. Not a tear did he shed, but the others remained 
breathless with astonishment. 

‘They give you a lot of trouble 

«‘Oh! no, sir, but they can smell the prunes, the little dears. 

If I were to leave them alone here for a moment, they would 
stuff themselves with them.’’ 

“‘ You are very fond of them?’’ 

The old woman raised her head at this, and looked at him 
with gentle malice in her eyes. 

‘‘Fond of them!’’ she said. ‘I have had to part with _ 
three of them already. I only have the care of them until 
they are six years old,’’ she went on with a sigh. 

“‘But where are your own children ?”’ 

**T have lost them.”’ 

“‘ How old are you!’’ Genestas asked, to efface the impres- 
sion made by his last question. 

<¢T am thirty-eight years old, sir. It will be two years come 
next St. John’s Day since my husband died.”’ 

She finished dressing the poor sickly mite, who seemed to 
thank her by a loving look in his faded eyes. 

“‘ What a life of toil and self-denial !’’ thought the cavalry 
officer. 

Beneath a roof worthy of the stable wherein Jesus Christ 
was born, the hardest duties of motherhood were fulfilled 
cheerfully and without consciousness of merit. What hearts 
were these that lay so deeply buried in neglect and obscurity ! 
What wealth and what poverty! Soldiers, better than other men, 
can appreciate the element of grandeur to be found in heroism 
in sabots, in the Evangel clad in rags. The Book may be found 


? 





SS 


14 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


elsewhere, adorned, embellished, tricked out in silk and satin 
and brocade, but here, of a surety, dwelt the spirit of the Book. 
It was impossible to doubt that heaven had some holy purpose 
underlying it all, at the sight of the woman who had taken a 
mother’s lot upon herself, as Jesus Christ had taken the form 
of a man, who gleaned and suffered and ran into debt for her 
little waifs ; a woman who defrauded herself in her reckonings, 
and would not own that she was ruining herself that she might 


be a mother. One was constrained to admit, at the sight of 


her, that the good upon earth have something in common 
with the angels in heaven ; Commandant Genestas shook his 
head as he looked at her. 

**Ts M. Benassis a clever doctor ?’’ he asked at last. 

*¢T do not know, sir, but he cures poor people for nothing.’ 

“‘TIt seems to me that this is a man and no mistake!’’ he 
went on, speaking to himself. 

“‘Oh! yes, sir, and a good man too! There is scarcely 
any one hereabouts that does not put his name in their prayers, 
morning and night! ”’ 


~— ‘That is for you, mother,’’ said the soldier, as he gave her 


several coins, ‘‘and that is for the children,’’ he went on, as 
he added another crown. ‘‘Is M. Benassis’ house still a long 
way off?’’ he asked, when he had mounted his horse. 

‘©Oh! no, sir, a bare league at most.’’ 

The commandant set out, fully persuaded that two leagues 
remained ahead of him. Yet after all he soon caught a 
glimpse through the trees of the little town’s first cluster of 
houses, and then of all the roofs that crowded about a conical 
steeple, whose slates were secured to the angles of the wooden 
framework by sheets of tin that glittered in the sun. This 
sort of roof, which has a peculiar appearance, denotes the 
nearness of the borders of Savoy, where it is very common. 
The valley is wide at this particular point, and a fair number 
of houses pleasantly situated, either in the little plain or along 
the side of the mountain stream, lend human interest to the 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 15 


well-tilled spot, a stronghold with no apparent outlet among 
the mountains that surround it. 

It was noon when Genestas reined in his horse beneath an 
avenue of elm trees half-way up the hillside, and only a few 
paces from the town, to ask the group of children who stood be- 
fore him for M. Benassis’ house. At first the children looked 
at each other, then they scrutinized the stranger with the expres- 
sion that they usually wear when they set eyes upon anything 
for the first time ; a different curiosity and a different thought 
in every little face. Then the boldest and merriest of the 
band, a little bright-eyed urchin, with bare, muddy feet, 
repeated his words over again, in child fashion. 

‘“M. Benassis’ house, sir?’’ adding, ‘‘I will show you the 
way there.”’ 

He walked along in front of the horse, prompted quite as 
much by a wish to gain a kind of importance by being in the 
stranger’s company, as by a child’s love of being useful, or 
the imperative craving to be doing something, that possesses 
mind and body at his age. The officer followed him for the 
entire length of the principal street of the country town. 
The way was paved with cobble-stones, and wound in and out 
among the houses, which their owners had erected along its 
course in the most arbitrary fashion. In one place a bake- 
house had been built out into the middle of the roadway ; in 
another a gable protruded, partially obstructing the passage, 
and yet farther on a mountain stream flowed across it ina 
runnel. Genestas noticed a fair number of roofs of tarred 
shingle, but yet more of them were thatched; a few were 
tiled, and some seven or eight (belonging no doubt to the 
curé, the justice of the peace, and some of the wealthier 
townsmen) were covered with slates. There was a total 
absence of regard for appearances befitting a village at the 
end of the world, which had nothing beyond it, and no con- 
nection with any other place. The people who lived in it 
seemed to belong to one family that dwelt beyond the limits 


16 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


of the bustling world, with which the collector of taxes and 
a few ties of the very slenderest alone served to connect them. 

When Genestas had gone a step or two farther, he saw on 
the mountain side a broad road that rose above the village. 
Clearly there must be an old town and anew town; and, 
indeed, when the commandant reached a spot where he could 
slacken the pace of his horse, he could easily see between the 
houses some well-built dwellings whose new roofs brightened 
the old-fashioned village. An avenue of trees rose above 
these new houses, and from among them came the confused 
sounds of several industries. He heard the songs peculiar 
to busy toilers, a murmur of many workshops, the rasping of 
files, and the sound of falling hammers. He saw the thin 
lines of smoke from the chimneys of each household, and the 
more copious outpourings from the forges of the van-builder, 
the blacksmith, and the farrier. At length, at the very end 
of the village towards which his guide was taking him, 
Genestas beheld scattered farms and well-tilled fields and 
plantations of trees in thorough order. It might have been a 
little corner of Brie, so hidden away ina great fold of the 
land, that at first sight its existence would not be suspected 
between the little town and the mountains that closed the 
country round. 

Presently the child stopped. 

‘‘ There is the door of Azs house,’’ he remarked. 

The officer dismounted and passed his arm through the 
bridle. Then, thinking that the laborer is worthy of his hire, 
he drew a few sous from his waistcoat pocket, and held them 
out to the child, who looked astonished at this, opened his 
eyes very wide, and stayed on, without thanking him, to 
watch what the stranger would do next. 

‘« Civilization has not made much headway hereabouts,’’ 
thought Genestas; ‘‘the religion of work is in full force, and 
begging has not yet come thus far.’’ 

His guide, more from curiosity than from any interested 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. M7 


motive, propped himself against the wall that rose to the 
height of a man’s elbow. Upon this wall, which enclosed the 
yard belonging to the house, there ran a black wooden railing 
on either side of the square pillars of the gates. The lower 
part of the gates themselves was of solid wood that had been 
painted gray at some period in the past ; the upper part con- 
sisted of a grating of yellowish spear-shaped bars. These 
decorations, which had lost all their color, gradually rose on 
either half of the gates till they reached the centre where 
they met ; their spikes forming, when both leaves were shut, 
an outline similar to that of a pine-cone. The worm-eaten 
gates themselves, with their patches of velvet lichen, were 
almost destroyed by the alternate action of sun and rain. A 
few aloe plants and some chance-sown pellitory grew on the 
tops of the square pillars of the gates, which all but concealed 
the stems of a couple of thornless acacias that raised their 
tufted spikes, like a pair of green powder-puffs, in the yard. 

The condition of the gateway revealed a certain carelessness 
in its owner which did not seem to suit the officer’s turn of 
mind. He knitted his brows like a man who is obliged to 
relinquish some illusion. We usually judge others by our own 
standard ; and although we indulgently forgive our own short- 
comings in them, we condemn them harshly for the lack of 
our special virtues. If the commandant had expected M. 
Benassis to be a methodical or practical man, there were 
unmistakable indications of absolute indifference as to his 
material concerns in the state of the gates of his house. A 
soldier possessed of Genestas’ passion for domestic economy 
could not help at once drawing inferences as to the life and 
character of its owner from the gateway before him; and 
this, in spite of his habits of circumspection, he in nowise 
failed to do. The gates were left ajar, moreover—another 
piece of carelessness ! 

Encouraged by this countrified trust in all comers, the 
officer entered the yard without ceremony, and tethered his 

2 


18 THE COUNRTY DOCTOR. 


horse to the bars of the gate. While he was knotting the 
bridle, a neighing sound from the stable caused both horse 
and rider to turn their eyes involuntarily in that direction. 
The door opened, and an old servant put out his head. He 
~ wore a red woolen bonnet, exactly like the Phrygian cap in 
which Liberty is tricked out, a piece of head-gear in common 
use in this country. 

As there was room for several horses, this worthy indi- 
vidual, after inquiring whether Genestas had come to see M. 
Benassis, offered the hospitality of the stable to the newly- 
arrived steed, a very fine animal, at which he looked with an 
expression of admiring affection. The commandant followed 
his horse to see how things were to go with it. The stable 
was clean, there was plenty of litter, and there was the same 
peculiar air of sleek content about M. Benassis’ pair of horses 
that distinguishes the curé’s horse from all the rest of his 
tribe. A maidservant from within the house came out upon 
the flight of steps and waited. She appeared to be the proper 
authority to whom the stranger’s inquires were to be addressed, 
although the stableman had already told him that M. Benassis 
was not at home. 

‘The master has gone to the flour-mill,’’ said he. ‘If 
you like to overtake him, you have only to go along the path 
that leads to the meadow ; and the mill is at the end of it.’’ 

Genestas preferred seeing the country to waiting about in- 
definitely for Benassis’ return, so he set out along the way that 
led to the flour-mill. When he had gone beyond the irregu- 
lar line traced by the town upon the hillside, he came in sight 
of the mill and the valley, and of one of the loveliest land- 
scapes that he had ever seen. 

The mountains bar the course of the river, which forms a 
little lake at their feet, and raise their crests above it, tier on 
tier. Their many valleys are revealed by the changing hues 
of the light, or by the more or less clear outlines of the moun- 
tain ridges fledged with their dark forests of pines. The mill 




























where the mayunral 
a wOS atl. hehe 
-. re hoes surroundad. by Waiter and 
aapaenial of afowm srupa that Inve te goow 
Whi fation DaWiot the river ato. 


Rate Cys! x liAQRRAl A Gone Ceoorteel 
its wiih Bee io mien Way, 


er Apert la vetty vie. 
oak an Tyna nt pape Vigiowe 
<8 Or (yeas A ie 
Levy Git. / Liraei ew 4 
; a a oe ‘yDieal Sytem iu > otaeu 
Ls fors be sh a ee 
’ tex me th “ havees ce eee er THERE." 
Biierstens in 8 ob te. = WE iy Pe 
iy eh ae qastovtane alway, boreeern. Ti i - saat repre Oh 
; me Ue A Gee 
v8 a Por 
ras Ne olen, ea tees Te Mets (le Lav aie Hyd: pans me © 
PE iitoapan « oT path nt. tiie yi. 
LANE WA Shine be, poe Ske Pom at 
Ale hous, Gotdviar ecked- hi, hina ‘ 
fe A, Ptenaauid went Gyee thet,” ogtt ih mee 
ee ee finned catrayes: 
ef ead Ui, wiley | Seeety Lire ct, don! aw 





a 


‘ ru : | 
* Phen howadia i. THINS i pet var 


» Crahenar, 
Pir ' | 
ih 
rt 
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| 
: 


Wau ow oh cunt upon in’ 
ae | 


bitesiing wie pce . 


— 





THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 19 


had not long been built. It stood just where the mountain 
stream fell into the little lake. There was all the charm 
about it peculiar to a lonely house surrounded by water and 
hidden away behind the heads of a few trees that love to grow 
by the water-side. On the farther bank of the river, at the 
foot of a mountain with a faint red glow of sunset upon its 
highest crest, Genestas caught a glimpse of a dozen deserted 
cottages. All the windows and doors had been taken away, 
and sufficiently large holes were conspicuous in the dilapidated 
roofs, but the surrounding land was laid out in fields that were 
highly cultivated, and the old garden spaces had been turned 
into meadows, watered by a system of irrigation as artfully 
contrived as that in use in Limousin. Unconsciously the 
commandant paused to look at the ruins of the village before 
him. 

How is it that men can never behold any ruins, even of the 
humblest kind, without feeling deeply stirred ? Doubtless it 
is because they seem to be a typical representation of evil 
fortune whose weight is felt so differently by different natures. 
The thought of death is called up by a churchyard, but a 
deserted village puts us in mind of the sorrows of life; death 
is but one misfortune always foreseen, but the sorrows of life 
are infinite. Does not the thought of the infinite underlie 
all great melancholy ? 

The officer reached the stony path by the mill-pond before 
he could hit upon an explanation of this deserted village. 
The miller’s lad was sitting on some sacks of corn near the 
door of the house. Genestas asked for M. Benassis. 

‘¢M. Benassis went over there,’’ said the miller, pointing 
out one of the ruined cottages. 

‘Has the village been burned down?” asked the com- 
mandant. 

CON OM Sis); 

‘¢Then how did it come to be in this state?’’ inquired 
Genestas. 


20 LHE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


‘¢Ah! how,’’ the miller answered, as he shrugged his 
shoulders and went indoors; ‘‘M. Benassis will tell you 
that.”’ 

The officer went over a rough sort of bridge built up of 
boulders taken from the torrent bed, and soon reached the 
house that had been pointed out to him. The thatched roof 
of the dwelling was still entire; it was covered with moss 
indeed, but there were no holes in it, and the door and its 
fastenings seemed to be in good repair. Genestas saw a fire 
on the hearth as he entered, an old woman kneeling in the 
chimney-corner before a sick man seated in a chair, and 
another man, who was standing with his face turned toward 
the fireplace. The house consisted of a single room, which 
was lighted by a wretched window covered with linen cloth. 
The floor was of beaten earth; the chair, a table, and a 
truckle bed comprised the whole of the furniture. The com- 
mandant had never seen anything so poor and bare, not even 
in Russia, where the moujik’s huts are like the dens of wild 
beasts. Nothing within it spoke of ordinary life; there were 
not even the simplest appliances for cooking food of the com- 
monest description. It might have been a dog kennel with- 
out a drinking-pan. But for the truckle bed, a smock-frock 
hanging from a nail, and some sabots filled with straw, which 
composed the invalid’s entire wardrobe, this cottage would 
have looked as empty as the other. ‘The aged peasant woman 
upon her knees was devoting all her attention to keeping the 
sufferer’s feet in a tub filled with a brown liquid. Hearing 
a footstep and the clank of spurs, which sounded strangely in 
ears accustomed to the plodding pace of country folk, the 
man turned towards Genestas. A sort of surprise, in which 
the old woman shared, was visible in his face. 

‘‘There is no need to ask if you are M. Benassis,’’ said 
the soldier. ‘‘You will pardon me, sir, if, as a stranger 
impatient to see you, I have come to seek you on your 
field of battle, instead of awaiting you at your house. Pray 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 21 


do not disturb yourself; go on with what you are doing. 
When it is over, I will tell you the purpose of my visit.”’ 

Genestas half-seated himself upon the edge of the table, 
and remained silent. ‘The firelight shone more brightly in 
the room than the faint rays of the sun, for the mountain 
crests intercepted them, so that they seldom reached this 
corner of the valley. A few branches of resinous pinewood 
made a bright blaze, and it was by the light of this fire 
that the soldier saw the face of the man towards whom he 
was drawn by a secret motive, by a wish to seek him out, 
to study and to know him thoroughly well. M. Benassis, 
the local doctor, heard Genestas with indifference, and with 
folded arms he returned his bow, and went back to his 
patient, quite unaware that he was being subjected to a 
scrutiny as earnest as that which the soldier turned upon 
him. 

Benassis was a man of ordinary height, broad-shouldered 
and deep-chested. A capacious green overcoat, buttoned 
up to the chin, prevented the officer from observing any 
characteristic details of his personal appearance; but his 
dark and motionless figure served as a strong relief to his 
face, which caught the bright light of the blazing fire. The 
face was not unlike that of a satyr; there was the same 
slightly protruding forehead, full, in this case, of promi- 
nences, all more or less denoting character; the same turned- 
up nose, with a sprightly cleavage at the tip; the same high 
cheek-bones. The lines of the mouth were crooked ; the lips, 
thick and red. The chin turned sharply upwards. There 
was an alert, animated look in the brown eyes, to which their 
pearly whites gave great brightness, and which expressed 
passions now subdued. His iron-gray hair, the deep wrinkles 
in his face, the bushy eyebrows that had grown white already, 
the veins on his protuberant nose, the tanned face covered 
with red blotches, everything about him, in short, indicated a 
man of fifty and the hard work of his profession. The officer 


22 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


could come to no conclusion as to the capacity of the head, 
which was covered by a close cap; but hidden though it was, 
it seemed to him to be one of the square-shaped kind that 
gave rise to the expression ‘‘ square-headed.’’ Genestas was 
accustomed to read the indications that mark the features of 
men destined to do great things, since he had been brought 
into close relations with the energetic natures sought out by 
Napoleon ; so he suspected that there must be some mystery 
in this life of obscurity, and said to himself ag he looked at 
the remarkable face before him— 

‘¢ How comes it that he is still a country doctor ?”’ 

When he had made a careful study of this countenance, 
that, in spite of its resemblance to other human faces, re- 
vealed an inner life nowise in harmony with a common-place 
exterior, he could not help sharing the doctor’s interest in his 
patient ; and the sight of that patient completely changed the 
current of his thoughts. 

Much as the old cavalry officer had seen in the course of his 
soldier’s career, he felt a thrill of surprise and horror at the 
sight of a human face which could never have been lighted up 
with thought—a livid face in which a look of dumb suffering 
showed so plainly—the same look that is sometimes worn by 
a child too young to speak and too weak to cry any longer ; 
in short, it was the wholly animal face of an old dying crétin. 
The crétin was the one variety of the human species with 
which the commandant had not yet come in contact. At the 
sight of the deep, circular folds of skin on the forehead, the 
sodden, fish-like eyes, and the head, with its short, coarse, 
scantily-growing hair—a head utterly divested of all the facul- 
ties of the senses—who would not have experienced, as Gen- 
estas did, an instinctive feeling of repulsion for a being that 
had neither the physical beauty of an animal nor the mental 
endowments of man, who was possessed of neither instinct 
nor reason, and who had never heard nor spoken any kind of 
articulate speech ? It seemed difficult to expend any regrets 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 23 


over the poor wretch now visibly drawing towards the very 
end of an existence which had not been life in any sense of 
the word; yet the old woman watched him with touching 
anxiety, and was rubbing his legs where the hot water did not 
reach them with as much tenderness as if he had been her 
husband. Benassis himself, after a close scrutiny of the dull 
eyes and corpse-like face, gently took the crétin’s hand and 
felt his pulse. 

“The bath is doing no good,” he said, shaking his head ; 
<¢ let us put him to bed again.”’ 

He lifted the inert mass himself, and carried him across to 
the truckle bed, from whence, no doubt, he had just taken 
him. Carefully he laid him at full length, and straightened 
the limbs that were growing cold already, putting the head 
and hand in position, with all the heed that a mother could 
bestow upon her child. 

‘Tt is all over, death is very near,’’ added Benassis, who 
remained standing by the bedside. 

The old woman gazed at the dying form, with her hands on 
her hips. A few tears stole down her cheeks. Genestas re- 
mained silent. He was unable to explain to himself how it 
was that the death of a being that concerned him so little 
should affect him so much. Unconsciously he shared the 
feeling of boundless pity that these hapless creatures excite 
among the dwellers in the sunless valleys wherein nature has 
placed them. ‘This sentiment has degenerated into a kind of 
religious superstition in families to which crétins belong ; but 
does it not spring fromthe most beautiful of Christian virtues 
—from charity, and from a belief in a reward hereafter, that 
most effectual support of our social system, and the one 
thought that enables us to endure our miseries? The hope 
of inheriting eternal bliss helps the relations of these unhappy 
creatures and all others round about them to exert on a large 
scale, and with sublime devotion, a mother’s ceaseless pro- 
tecting care over an apathetic creature who does not under- 


24 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


stand it in the first instance, and who in a little while forgets 
it all. Wonderful power of religion! that has brought a blind 
beneficence to the aid of an equally blind misery. Wherever 
crétins exist, there is a popular belief that the presence of one 
of these creatures brings luck to a family—a superstition that 
serves to sweeten lives which, in the midst of a town popu- 
lation, would be condemned by a mistaken philanthropy to 
submit to the harsh discipline of an asylum. In the higher 
end of the valley of the Isére, where crétins are very nu- 
merous, they lead an out-of-door life with the cattle, which 
they are taught toherd. There, at any rate, they are at large, 
and receive the reverence due to misfortune. 

A moment later the village bell clinked at slow regular in- 
tervals, to acquaint the flock with the death of one of their 
number. In the sound that reached the cottage but faintly 
across the intervening space there was a thought of religion 
which seemed to fill it with a melancholy peace. The tread 
of many feet echoed up the road, giving notice of an ap- 
proaching crowd of people—a crowd that uttered not a word. 
Then suddenly the chanting of the Church broke the stillness, 
calling up the confused thoughts that take possession of the 
most sceptical minds, and compel them to yield to the influ- 
ence of the touching harmonies of the human voice. The 
Church was coming to the aid of a creature that knew her 
not. The curé appeared, preceded by a choir-boy, who bore 
the crucifix, and followed by the sacristan carrying the vase 
of holy water, and by some fifty women, old men, and chil- 
dren, who had all come to add their prayers to those of the 
Church. The doctor and the soldier looked at each other, 
and silently withdrew to a corner to make room for the kneel- 
ing crowd within and without the cottage. During the con- 
soling ceremony of the Viaticum, celebrated for one who had 
never sinned, but to whom the Church on earth was bidding 
a last farewell, there were signs of real sorrow on most of the 
rough faces of the gathering, and tears flowed over rugged 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 25 


cheeks that sun and wind and labor in the fields had tanned 
and wrinkled. The sentiment of voluntary kinship was easy 
to explain. There was not one in the place who had not 
pitied the unhappy creature, not one who would not have 
given him his daily bread. Had he not met witha father’s 
care from every child, and found a mother in the merriest 
little girl? 

‘* He is dead,’’ said the curé. 

The words struck his hearers with the most unfeigned dis- 
may. The tall candles were lighted, and several people un- 
dertook to watch with the dead that night. Benassis and the 
soldier went out. A group of peasants in the doorway 
stopped the doctor to say— 

““Ah! if you have not saved his life, sir, it was doubtless 
because God wished to take him to Himself.”’ 

‘¢T did my best, children,’’ the doctor answered. 

When they had come a few paces from the deserted village, 
whose last inhabitant had just died, the doctor spoke to 
Genestas. 

‘You would not believe, sir, what real solace is contained 
for me in what those peasants have just said. Ten years ago 
I was very nearly stoned to death in this village. It is empty 
to-day, but thirty families lived in it then.” 

Genestas’ face and gesture so plainly expressed an inquiry, 
that, as they went along, the doctor told him the story 
promised by this beginning. 

‘When I first settled here, sir, I found a dozen crétins in 
this part of the canton,’’ and the doctor turned round to 
point out the ruined cottages for the officer’s benefit. ‘All 
the favorable conditions for spreading the hideous disease are 
there: the air is stagnant, the hamlet lies in the valley bottom, 
close beside a torrent supplied with water by the melted 
snows, and the sunlight only falls on the mountain-top, so 
that the valley itself gets no good of the sun. Marriages 
among these unfortunate creatures are not forbidden by law, 


26 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


and in this district they are protected by superstitious notions, 
of whose power I had no conception—superstitions which I 
blamed at first, and afterwards came to admire. So crétinism 
was in a fair way to spread all over the valley from this spot. 
Was it not doing the country a great service to put a stop to 
this mental and physical contagion? But imperatively as the 
salutary changes were required, they might cost the life of 
any man who endeavored to bring them about. » Here, as in 
other social spheres, if any good is to be done, we come into 
collision not merely with vested interests, but with something 
far more dangerous to meddle with—religious ideas crystallized 
into superstitions, the most permanent form taken by human 
thought. I feared nothing. 

‘In the first place, I sought for the position of mayor in 
the canton, and in this I succeeded. Then, after obtaining 
a verbal sanction from the prefect, and by paying down the 
money, I had several of these unfortunate creatures trans- 
ported over the Aiguebelle, in Savoy, by night. There area 
great many of them there, and they were certain to be very 
kindly treated. When this act of humanity came to be 
known, the whole countryside looked upon me as a monster. 
The curé preached against me. In spite of all the pains I 
took to explain to all the shrewder heads of the little place the 
immense importance of being rid of the idiots, and in spite 
of the fact that I gave my services gratuitously to the sick 
people of the district, a shot was fired at me from the corner 
of a wood. 

‘‘T went to the Bishop of Grenoble and asked him to 
change the curé. Monseigneur was good enough to allow me 
to choose a priest who would share in my labors, and it was 
my happy fortune to meet with one of those rare natures that 
seemed to have dropped down from heaven. Then I went 
on with my enterprise. After preparing people’s minds, I 
made another transportation by night, and six more crétins 
were taken away. In this second attempt I had the support 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 27 


of several people to whom I had rendered some service, and I 
was backed by the members of the Communal Council, for I 
had appealed to their parsimonious instincts, showing them 
how much it cost to support the poor wretches, and pointing 
out how largely they might gain by converting their plots of 
ground (to which the idiots had no proper title) into allot- 
ments which were needed in the township. 

‘©All the rich were on my side; but the poor, the old 
women, the children, and a few pig-headed people were vio- 
lently opposed to me. Unluckily it so fell out that my last 
removal had not been completely carried out. The crétin 
whom you had just seen, not having returned to his house, 
had not been taken away, so that the next morning he 
was the sole remaining example of his species in the village. 
There were several families still living there; but though they 
were little better than idiots, they were, at any rate, free from 
the taint of crétinism. I determined to go through with my 
work, and came officially in open day to take the luckless 
creature from his dwelling. I had no sooner left my house 
than my intention got abroad. The crétin’s friends were 
there before me, and in front of his hovel I found a crowd of 
women and children and old people, who hailed my arrival 
with insults accompanied by a shower of stones. 

‘In the midst of the uproar I should perhaps have fallen 
a victim to the frenzy that possesses a crowd excited by its 
own outcries and stirred up by one common feeling, but the 
crétin saved my life! The poor creature came out of his hut, 
and raised the cluckling sound of his voice. He seemed to be 
an absolute ruler over the fanatical mob, for the sight of him 
put a sudden stop to the clamor. It occurred to me that I might 
arrange a compromise, and thanks to the quiet so opportunely 
restored, I was able to propose and explain it. Of course, 
those who approved of my schemes would not dare to second 
me in this emergency, their support was sure to be of a purely 
passive kind, while these superstitious folk would exert the 


28 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


most active vigilance to keep their last idol among them; it 
was impossible, it seemed to me, to take him away from them. 
So I promised to leave the crétin in peace in his dwelling, 
with the understanding that he should live quite by himself, 
and that the remaining families in the village should cross the 
stream and come to live in the town, in some new houses 
which I myself undertook to build, adding to each house a 
piece of ground for which the commune was to repay me 
later on. 

** Well, my dear sir, it took me fully six months to over- 
come their objection to this bargain, however much it may 
have been to the advantage of the village families. The 
affection which they have for their wretched hovels in country 
districts is something quite unexplainable. No matter how 
unwholesome his hovel may be, a peasant clings far more to it 
than a banker does to his mansion. The reason of it? That 
Ido not know. Perhaps thoughts and feelings are strongest 
in those who have but few of them, simply because they have 
but few. Perhaps material things count for much in the lives 
of those who live so little in thought; certain it is that the 
less they have, the dearer their possessions are to them. Per- 
haps, too, it is with the peasant as with the prisoner—he does 
not squander the powers of his soul, he centres them all upon 
a single idea, and this is how his feelings come to be so ex- 
ceedingly strong. Pardon these reflections on the part of a 
man who seldom exchanges ideas with any one. But, indeed, 
you must not suppose, sir, that I am much taken up with these 
far-fetched considerations. We all have to be active and 
practical here. ' 

‘< Alas! the fewer ideas these poor folk have in their heads, 
the harder it is to make them see where their real interests lie. 
There was nothing for it but to give my whole attention to 
every trifling detail of my enterprise. One and all made me 
the same answer, one of those sayings, filled with homely 
sense, to which there is no possible reply, ‘ But your houses 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 29 


are not yet built, sir!’ they used to say. ‘ Very good,’ said 
I, ‘ promise me that as soon as they are finished you will come 
and live in them.’ 

‘Luckily, sir, I obtained a decision to the effect that the 
whole of the mountain side above the now deserted village was 
the property of the township. The sum of money brought in 
by the woods on the higher slopes paid for the building of the 
new houses and for the land on which they stood. They 
were built forthwith; and when once one of my refractory 
families was fairly settled in, the rest of them were not slow 
to follow. The benefits of the change were so evident that 
even the most bigoted believer in the village, which you 
might call soulless as well as sunless, could not but appreciate 
them. The final decision in this matter, which gave some 
property to the commune, in the possession of which we 
were confirmed by the Council of State, made me a person 
of great importance in the canton. But what a lot of worry 
there was over it!’’ the doctor remarked, stopping short, and 
raising a hand, which he let fall again—a gesture that spoke 
volumes. ‘No one knows, as I do, the distance between the 
town and the Prefecture—whence nothing comes out—and 
from the Prefecture to the Council of State—where nothing 
can be got in. 

“Well, after all,’’ he resumed, ‘‘ peace be to the powers 
of this world! They yielded to my importunities, and that 
is saying a great deal. If you only knew the good that 
came of acarelessly scrawled signature! Why, sir, two years 
after I had taken those momentous trifles in hand, and had 
carried the matter through to the end, every poor family in 
the commune had two cows at least, which they pastured on 
the mountain side, where (without waiting this time for an 
authorization from the Council of State) I had established a 
system of irrigation by means of cross trenches, like those in 
Switzerland, Auvergne, and Limousin. Much to their aston- 
ishment, the townspeople saw some capital meadows springing 


, 


30 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


up under their eyes, and thanks to the improvement in the 
pasturage, the yield of milk was very much larger. The 
results of this triumph were great indeed. Every one followed 
the example set by my system of irrigation ; cattle were mul- 
tiplied ; the area of meadow land and every kind of out-turn 
increased. I had nothing to fear after that. I could continue 
my efforts to improve this, as yet, untilled corner of the earth ; 
and to civilize those who dwelt in it, whose minds had hitherto 
lain dormant. 

‘‘ Well, sir, folk like us, who live out of the world, are very 
talkative. If you ask us a question, there is no knowing 
where the answer will come to an end; but to cut it short— 
there were about seven hundred souls in the valley when I 
came to it, and nowthe population numbers some two thousand. 
I had gained the good opinion of every one in that matter 
of the last crétin ; and when I had constantly shown that I 
could rule both mildly and firmly, I became a local oracle. 
I did everything that I could to win their confidence; I did 
not ask for it, nor did I appear to seek it; but I tried to 
inspire every one with the deepest respect for my character, 
by the scrupulous way in which I always fulfilled my engage- 
ments, even when they were of the most trifling kind. When 
I had pledged myself to the care of the poor creature whose 
death you have just witnessed, I looked after him much more 
effectually than any of his previous guardians had done. He 
has been fed and cared for as the adopted child of the com- 
mune. After a time the dwellers in the valley ended by under- 
standing the service which I had done them in spite of them- 
selves, but, for all that, they still cherish some traces of that 
old superstition of theirs. Far be it from me to blame them 
for it; has not their cult of the crétin often furnished me 
with an argument when I have tried to induce those who had 
possession of their faculties to help the unfortunate? But 
here we are,’’ said Benassis, when after a moment’s pause he 
saw the roof of his own house. 


’ 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 31 


Far from expecting the slightest expression of praise or of 
thanks from his listener, it appeared from his way of telling 
the story of this episode in his administrative career that he 
had been moved by an unconscious desire to pour out the 
thoughts that filled his mind, after the manner of folk that 
live very retired lives. 

‘‘T have taken the liberty of putting my horse in your 
stable, sir,’’ said the commandant, ‘‘ for which in your good- 
ness you will perhaps pardon me when you learn the object of 
my journey hither.’’ 

‘Ah! yes, what is it?’’ asked Benassis, appearing to 
shake off his preoccupied mood, and to recollect that his 
companion was a stranger to him. The frankness and unre- 
serve of his nature had led him to accept Genestas as an 
acquaintance. 

‘‘T have heard of the almost miraculous recovery of M. 
Gravier of Grenoble, whom you received into your house,’’ was 
the soldier’s answer. ‘‘I have come to you, hoping that you 
will give a like attention to my case, although I have not a 
similar claim to your benevolence ; and yet I am possibly not 
undeserving of it. Iam an old soldier, and wounds of long 
standing give me no peace. It will take you at least a week to 
study my conditions, for the pain only comes back at inter- 
vals, and a 

“¢ Very good, sir,’’ Benassis broke in; ‘*‘ M. Gravier’s room 
is in readiness. Come in.” 

They went into the house, the doctor flinging open the 
door with an eagerness that Genestas attributed to his pleasure 
at receiving a boarder. 

“‘ Jacquotte !’’ Benassis called out. ‘* This gentleman will 
dine with us.”’ 

“¢ But would it not be as well for us to settle about the pay- 
ment ?’’ 

‘‘ Payment for what ?’’ inquired the doctor, looking at 
Genestas with some surprise. 





32 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


‘‘For my board. You cannot keep me, and my horse as 
well, without a 

*‘If you are wealthy, you will repay me amply,’’ Benassis 
replied ; ‘‘and if you are not, I will take nothing whatever.”’ 

‘‘Nothing whatever seems to me to be too dear,’’ said 
Genestas. ‘‘ But, rich or poor, will ten francs a day (not in- 
cluding your professional services) be acceptable to you?”’ 

** Nothing could be less acceptable to me than payment for 
the pleasure of entertaining a visitor,’’ the doctor answered, 
knitting his brows; ‘‘and as to my advice, you shall have it 
if I like you, and not unless. Rich people shall not have my 
time by paying for it; it belongs exclusively to the folk here 
in the valley. I do not care about fame or fortune, and I 
look for neither praise nor gratitude from my patients. Any 
money which you may pay me will go to the druggists in 
Grenoble, to pay for the medicine required by the poor of the 
neighborhood.”’ 

Any one who had heard the words flung out, abruptly, it is 
true, but without a trace of bitterness in them, would have 
said to himself with Genestas, ‘‘ Here is a man made of good 
human clay.”’ 

** Well, then, I will pay you ten francs a day, sir,’’ the 
soldier answered, returning to the charge with wonted per- 
tinacity, ‘‘and you will do as you choose after that. We 
shall understand each other better now that the question is 
settled,’’ he added, grasping the doctor’s hand with eager 
cordiality. ‘‘In spite of my ten francs, you shall see that I 
am by no means a Tartar.”’ 

After this passage of arms, in which Benassis showed not 
the slightest sign of a wish to appear generous or to pose as a 
philanthropist, the supposed invalid entered his doctor’s 
house. Everything within it was in keeping with the ruinous 
state of the gateway, and with the clothing worn by its 
owner. There was an utter disregard for everything not 
essentially useful, which was visible even in the smallest 





THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 33 


trifles. Benassis took Genestas through the kitchen, that 
being the shortest way to the dining-room. 

Had the said kitchen belonged to an inn, it could not have 
been more smoke-begrimed ; and if there was a sufficiency of 
cooking pots within its precincts, this lavish supply was 
Jacquotte’s doing—Jacquotte, who had formerly been the 
curé’s housekeeper—Jacquotte, who always said ‘‘we’’ and 
who ruled supreme over the doctor’s household. If, for 
instance, there was a brightly polished warming-pan above 
the mantle-shelf, it probably hung there because Jacquotte 
liked to sleep warm of a winter night, which led her inci- 
dentally to warm her master’s sheets. He never took a 
thought about anything, so she was wont to say. 

It was on account of a defect, which any one else would 
have found intolerable, that Benassis had taken her into his 
service. Jacquotte had a mind to rule the house, and a 
woman who would rule his house was the very person that the 
doctor wanted. So Jacquotte bought and sold, made altera- 
tions about the place, set up and took down, arranged and 
disarranged everything at her own sweet will; her master had 
never raised a murmur. Over the yard, the stable, the man- 
servant and the kitchen, in fact, over the whole house and 
garden and its master, Jacquotte’s sway was absolute. She 
looked out fresh linen, saw to the washing, and laid in pro- 
visions without consulting anybody. She decided everything 
that went on in the house, and the date when the pigs were to 
be killed. She scolded the gardener, decreed the menu at 
breakfast and dinner, and went from cellar to garret, and 
from garret to cellar, setting everything to rights according to 
her notions, without a word of opposition of any sort or 
description. Benassis had made but two stipulations—he 
wished to dine at six o’clock, and that the household expenses 
should not exceed a certain fixed sum every month. 

A woman whom every one obeys in this way is always sing- 
ing, so Jacquotte laughed and warbled on the staircase ; she 

3 


34 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


was always humming something when she was not singing, 
and singing when she was not humming. Jacquotte had a 
natural liking for cleanliness, so she kept the house neat and 
clean. If her tastes had been different, it would have been a 
sad thing for M. Benassis (so she was wont to say), for the 
poor man was so little particular that you might feed him on 
cabbage for partridges, and he would not find it out; and if 
it were not for her, he would very often wear the same shirt 
for a week on end. Jacquotte, however, was an indefatigable 
folder of linen, a born rubber and polisher of furniture, and 
a passionate lover of a perfectly religious and ceremonial 
cleanliness of the most scrupulous, the most radiant, and most 
fragrant kind. A sworn foe to dust, she swept and scoured 
and washed without ceasing. 

The condition of the gateway caused her acute distress. 
On the first day of every month for the past ten years she 
had extorted from her master a promise that he would replace 
the gate with a new one, that the walls of the house should 
be lime-washed, and that everything should be made quite 
straight and proper about the place; but so far, the master 
had not kept his word. So it happened that whenever she 
fell to lamenting over Benassis’ deeply-rooted carelessness 
about things, she nearly always ended solemnly.in these words, 
with which all her praises of her master usually terminated— 

“‘ You cannot say that he is a fool, because he works such 
miracles, as you may say, in the place; but, all the same, he 
1s a fool at times, such a fool that you have to do everything 
for him as if he were a child.”’ 

Jacquotte loved the house as if it had belonged to her; and 
when she had lived in it for twenty-two years, had she not 
some grounds for deluding herself on that head? After the 
curé’s death the house had been for sale; and Benassis, who 
had only just come into the country, had bought it as it stood, 
with the walls about it and the ground belonging to it, together 
with the plate, wine, and furniture, the old sun-dial, the poultry 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 38 


the horse, and the womanservant. Jacquotte was the very 
pattern of a working housekeeper, with her clumsy figure, and 
her bodice, always of the same dark brown print with large 
red spots on it, which fitted her so tightly that it looked as if 
the material must give way if she moved at all. Her color- 
less face, with its double chin, looked out from under a round 
plaited cap, which made her look paler than she really was. 
She talked incessantly, and always in aloud voice—this short, 
active woman, with the plump, busy hands. Indeed, if 
Jacquotte was silent for a moment, and took a corner of her 
apron so as to turn it up in a triangle, it meant that a lengthy 
expostulation was about to be delivered for the benefit of 
master or man. Jacquotte was beyond all doubt the happiest 
cook in the kingdom ; for, that nothing might be lacking in 
a measure of felicity as great as may be known in this world 
below, her vanity was continually gratified—the townspeople 
regarded her as an authority of an indefinite kind, and 
ranked her somewhere between the mayor and the park- 
keeper. 

The master of the house found nobody in the kitchen when 
he entered it. 

“Where the devil are they all gone ?’’ he asked. ‘‘ Pardon 
me for bringing you in this way,’’ he went on, turning to Gen- 
estas. ‘‘ The front entrance opens into the garden, but I am 
so little accustomed to receive visitors that—Jacquotte!’’ he 
called in rather peremptory tones. 

A woman’s voice answered to the name from the interior 
of the house. A moment later Jacquotte, assuming the 
offensive, called in her turn to Benassis, who forthwith went 
into the dining-room. 

‘¢Just like you, sir!’’ she exclaimed; ‘‘ you never do like 
anybody else. You always ask people to dinner without tell- 
ing me beforehand, and you think that everything is settled 
as soon as you have called for Jacquotte! You are not 
going to have the gentleman sit in the kitchen, are you? 


36 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


Is not the salon to be unlocked and a fire to be lighted? 
Nicole is there, and will see after everything. Now take the 
gentleman into the garden for a minute; that will amuse 
him; if he likes to look at pretty things, show him the 
arbor of hornbeam trees that the poor dear old gentleman 
made. I shall have time then to lay the cloth and to get 
everything ready, the dinner and the salon too,”’ 

“Yes. But, Jacquotte,’’ Benassis went on, ‘‘ the gentleman 
is going to stay with us. Do not forget to give a look round 
M. Gravier’s room, and see about the sheets and things, 
and i 

“Now you are not going to interfere about the sheets, 
are you?’’ asked Jacquotte. ‘‘ If he is to sleep here, I know 
what must be done for him perfectly well. You have not 
so much as set foot in M. Gravier’s room these ten months 
past. There is nothing to see there, the place is as clean as a 
new pin. Then will the gentleman make some stay here ?”’ 
she continued in a milder tone. 

eoViess: > 

“¢ How long will he stay ?”’ 

“Faith, Ido not know. What does it matter to you?”’ 

‘*What does it matter to me, sir? Oh! very well, what 
does it matter to me? Did anyone ever hear the like! And 
the provisions and all that, and ty 

At any other time she would have overwhelmed her master 
with reproaches for his breach of trust, but now she followed 
him into the kitchen before the torrent of words had come to 
an end. She had guessed that there was a prospect of a 
boarder, and was eager to see Genestas, to whom she made a 
very deferential curtsey, while she scanned him from head to 
foot. A thoughtful and dejected expression gave a harsh look 
to the soldier’s face. In the dialogue between master and 
servant the latter had appeared to him in the light of a non- 
entity; and although he regretted the fact, this revelation 
had lessened the high opinion that he had formed of the man 








THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 37 


whose persistent efforts to save the district from the horrors 
of crétinism had won his admiration. 

‘‘T do not like the looks of that fellow at all!’’ said Jac- 
quotte to herself. 

‘If you are not tired, sir,’’ said the doctor to his sup- 
posed patient, ‘‘ we will take a turn round the garden before 
dinner.”’ 

«* Willingly,’’ answered the commandant. 

They went through the dining-room, and reached the gar- 
den by way of a sort of vestibule at the foot of the staircase 
between the salon and the dining-room. Beyond a great glass 
door at the farther end of the vestibule lay a flight of stone 
steps which adorned the garden side of the house. The garden 
itself was divided into four large squares of equal size by two 
paths that intersected each other in the form of a cross, a box 
edging along their sides. At the farther end there was a thick, 
green alley of hornbeam trees, which had been the joy and 
pride of the late owner. The soldier seated himself on a 
worm-eaten bench, and saw neither the trellis-work nor the 
espaliers, nor the vegetables of which Jacquotte took such 
great care. She followed the traditions of the epicurean 
churchman to whom this valuable garden owed its origin ; but 
Benassis himself regarded it with sufficient indifference. 

The commandant turned their talk from the trivial matters 
which had occupied them by saying to the doctor— 

“* How comes it, sir, that the population of the valley has 
been trebled in ten years? There were seven hundred souls 
in it when you came, and to-day you say that they number 
more than two thousand.”’ 

‘<¢ You are the first person who has put that question to me,”’ 
the doctor answered. ‘‘ Though it has been my aim to de- 
velop the capabilities of this little corner of the earth to the 
utmost, the constant pressure of a busy life has not left me 
time to think over the way in which (like the mendicant 
brother) I have made ‘broth from a flint’ on a large scale. 


38 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


M. Gravier himself, who is one of several who have done a 
great deal for us, and to whom I was able to render a service 
by re-establishing his health, has never given a thought to the 
theory, though he has been everywhere over our mountain 
sides with me, to see its practical results.”’ 

There was a moment’s silence, during which Benassis fol- 
lowed his own thoughts, careless of the keen glance by which 
his guest tried to fathom him. 

“©You ask how it came about, my dear sir?’’ the doctor 
resumed. ‘‘ It came about quite naturally through the working 
of the social law by which the need and means of supplying 
it are correlated. Herein lies the whole story. Races who 
have no wants are always poor. When I first came to live 
here in this township there were about a hundred and thirty 
peasant families in it, and some two hundred hearths in the 
valley. The local authorities were such as might be expected 
in the prevailing wretchedness of the population. The mayor 
himself could not write, and the deputy-mayor was a small 
farmer, who lived beyond the limits of the commune. ‘The 
justice of the peace was a poor devil who had nothing but his 
salary, and who was forced to relinquish the registration of 
births, marriages, and deaths to his clerk, another hapless 
wretch who was scarcely able to understand his duties. The 
old curé had died at the age of seventy, and his curate, a quite 
uneducated man, had just succeeded to his position. ‘These 
people comprised all the intelligence of the district over which 
they ruled. ; 

‘« Those who dwelt amidst these lovely natural surroundings 
eroveled in squalor and lived upon potatoes, milk, butter, and 
cheese. The only produce that brought in any money was 
the cheese, which most of them carried in small baskets to 
Grenoble or its outskirts. The richer or the more energetic 
among them sowed buckwheat for home consumption ; some- 
times they raised a crop of barley or oats, but wheat was un- 
known. ‘The only trader in the place was the mayor, who 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 39 


owned a sawmill and bought up timber at a low price to sell 
again. In the absence of roads, his tree trunks had to be 
transported during the summer season ; each log was dragged 
along one at a time, and with no small difficulty, by means of 
a chain attached to a halter about his horse’s neck, and an 
iron hook at the farther end of the chain, which was driven 
into the wood. Any one who went to Grenoble, whether on 
horseback or afoot, was obliged to follow a track high up on 
the mountain side, for the valley was quite impassable. The 
pretty road between this place and the first village that you 
reach as you come into the canton (the way along which you 
must have come) was nothing but a slough at all seasons of 
the year. 

** Political events and revolutions had never reached this 
inaccessible country—it lay completely beyond the limits of 
social stir and change. Napoleon’s name, and his alone, had 
penetrated hither; he is held in great veneration, thanks to 
one or two old soldiers who have returned to their native 
homes, and who of evenings tell marvelous tales about his 
adventures and his armies for the benefit of these simple folk. 
Their coming back is, moreover, a puzzle that no one can 
explain. Before I came here, the young men who went into 
the army all stayed in it for good. This fact in itself isa 
sufficient revelation of the wretched condition of the country. 
I need not give you a detailed description of it. 

*¢ This, then, was the state of things when I first came to 
the canton, which has several contented, well-tilled, and fairly 
prosperous communes belonging to it upon the other side of 
the mountains. I will say nothing about the hovels in the 
town; they were neither more nor less than stables, in which 
men and animals were indiscriminately huddled together. As 
there was no inn in the place, I was obliged to ask the curate 
for a bed, he being in possession, for the time being, of this 
house, then offered for sale. Putting to him question after 
question, I came to have some slight knowledge of the lament- 


40 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


able condition of the country with the pleasant climate, the 
fertile soil, and the natural productiveness that had impressed 
me so much. 

‘* At that time, sir, I was seeking to shape a future for my- 
self that should be as little as possible like the troubled life 
that had left me weary; and one of those thoughts came into 
my mind that God gives to us at times, to enable us to take 
up our burdens and bear them. I resolved to develop all the 
resources of this country, just as a tutor develops the capaci- 
ties of a child. Do not think too much of my benevolence ; 
the pressing need that I felt for turning my thoughts into 
fresh channels entered too much into my motives. I had 
determined to give up the remainder of my life to some 
difficult task. A lifetime would be required to bring about 
the needful changes in a canton that nature had made so 
wealthy, and man so poor; and I was tempted by the practi- 
cal difficulties that stood in the way. As soon as I found that 
I could secure the curé’s house and plenty of waste land at a 
small cost, I solemnly devoted myself to the calling of a 
country surgeon—the very last position that a man aspires to 
take. I determined to become the friend of the poor, and to 
expect no reward of any kind from them. Oh! I did not in- 
dulge in any illusions as to the nature of the country people, nor 
as to the hindrances that lie in the way of every attempt to 
bring about a better state of things among men or their sur- 
roundings. I have never made idyllic pictures of my people; 
I have taken them at their just worth—as poor peasants, neither 
wholly good nor wholly bad, whose constant toil never allows 
them to indulge in emotion, though they can feel acutely at 
times. Above all things, in fact, I clearly understood that I 
should do nothing with them except through an appeal to their 
selfish interests, and by schemes for their immediate well-being. 
The peasants are one and all the sons of St. Thomas, the 
doubting apostle—they always like words to be supported by 
visible facts. 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 41 


‘‘ Perhaps you will laugh at my first start, sir,’’ the doctor 
went on after a pause. ‘‘I began my difficult enterprise by 
introducing the manufacture of baskets. The poor folk used 
to buy the wicker mats on which they drain their cheeses, and 
all the baskets needed for the insignificant trade of the dis- 
trict. I suggested to an intelligent young fellow that he 
might take on lease a good-sized piece of land by the side of 
the torrent. Every year the floods deposited a rich alluvial 
soil on this spot, where there should be no difficulty in grow- 
ing osiers. I reckoned out the quantity of wicker-work of 
various kinds required from time to time by the canton, and 
went over to Grenoble, where I found out a young craftsman, 
a clever worker, but without any capital. When I had dis- 
covered him, I soon made up my mind to set him up in busi- 
ness here. JI undertook to advance the money for the 
osiers required for his work until my osier-farmer should be in 
a position to supply him. I induced him to sell his baskets at 
rather lower prices than they asked for them in Grenoble, 
while, at the same time, they were better made. He entered 
into my views completely. The osier-beds and the basket- 
making were two business speculations whose results were only 
appreciated after the lapse of four years. Of course, you 
know that osiers must be three years old before they are fit to 
cut. 

‘*At the commencement of operations, the basket-maker 
was boarded and lodged gratuitously. Before very long he 
married a woman from Saint Laurent du Pont, who had a 
little money. Then he had a house built in a healthy and 
very airy situation, which I chose, and my advice was fol- 
» lowed as to the internal arrangements. Here was a triumph! 
I had created a new industry, and had brought a producer 
and several workers into the town. I wonder if you will re- 
gard my elation as childish ? 

‘For the first few days after my basket-maker had set up 
his business, I never went past his shop but my heart beat 


42 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


somewhat faster. And when I saw the newly-built house, 
with the green-painted shutters, the vine beside the doorway, 
and the bench and bundles of osiers before it; when I saw a 
tidy, neatly-dressed woman within it, nursing a plump, pink 
and white baby, among the workmen, who were singing 
merrily and busily plaiting their wicker-work under the 
superintendence of a man who but lately had looked so 
pinched and pale, but now had an atmosphere of prosperity 
about him; when I saw all this, I confess that I could not 
forego the pleasure of turning basket-maker for a moment, of 
going into the shop to hear how; things went with them, and 
of giving myself up to a feeling of content that I cannot ex- 
press in words, for I had all their happiness as well as my own 
to make me glad. All my hopes became centred on this 
house, where the man dwelt who had been the first to put a 
steady faith in me. Like the basket-maker’s wife, clasping 
her first nursling to her breast, did not I already fondly 
cherish the hopes of the future of this poor district ? 

«‘T had to do so many things at once,’’ he went on, ‘I 
came into collision with other people’s notions, and met with 
violent opposition, fomented by the ignorant mayor to whose 
office I had succeeded, and whose influence had dwindled 
away as mine increased. I determined to make him my 
deputy, and a confederate in my schemes of benevolence. 
Yes, in the first place, I endeavored to instil enlightened 
ideas into the densest of all heads. Through his self-love 
and cupidity I gained a hold upon my man. During six 
months, as we dined together, I took him deeply into my 
confidence about my projected improvements. Many people 
would think this intimacy one of the most painful inflictions 
in the course of my task; but was he not a tool of the most 
valuable kind? Woe to him who despises his axe, or flings it 
carelessly aside! Would it not have been very inconsistent, 
moreover, if I, who wished to improve a district, had shrank 
back at the thought of improving one man in it? 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 48 


«<< A road was our first and most pressing need “in bringing 
about a better state of things. If we could obtain permission 
from the Municipal Council to make a hard road, so as to put 
us in communication with the highway to Grenoble, the 
deputy-mayor would be the first gainer by it, for instead of 
dragging his timber over rough tracks at a great expense, a 
good road through the canton would enable him to transport 
it more easily, and to engage in a traffic on a large scale, in 
all kinds of wood, that would bring in money—not a miser- 
able six hundred francs a year, but handsome sums which 
would mean a certain fortune for him some day. Convinced 
at last, he became my proselytizer. 

‘¢ Through the whole of one winter the ex-mayor got into 
the way of explaining to our citizens that a good road for 
wheeled traffic would be a source of wealth to the whole 
country round, for it would enable every one to do a trade 
with Grenoble ; he held forth on this head at the tavern while 
drinking with his intimates. When the Municipal Council 
had authorized the making of the road, I went to the prefect 
and obtained some money from the charitable funds at the 
disposal of the department, in order to pay for the hire of 
carts, for the commune was unable to undertake the transport 
of road material for lack of wheeled conveyances. The igno- 
rant began to murmur against me, and to say that I wanted to 
bring back the days of compulsory labor again; this made me 
anxious to finish this important work, that they might speedily 
appreciate its benefits. With this end in view, every Sunday 
during my first year of office I drew the whole population of the 
township, willing or unwilling, up on to the mountain, where 
I myself had traced out on a hard bottom the road between 
our village and the highway to Grenoble. Materials for mak- 
ing it were fortunately to be had in plenty all along the site. 

‘¢ The tedious enterprise called for a great deal of patience 
on my part. Some who were ignorant of the law would 
refuse at times to give their contribution of labor; others, 


44 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


again, who had not bread to eat, really could not afford to 
lose a day. Corn had to be distributed among these last, and 
the others must be soothed with friendly words. Yet by the 
time we had finished two-thirds of the road, which in all is 
about two leagues in length, the people had so thoroughly 
recognized its advantages, that the remaining third was accom- 
plished with a spirit that surprised me. I added to the future 
wealth of the commune by planting a double row of poplars 
along the ditch on either side of the way. The trees are 
already almost worth a fortune, and they make our road look 
like a king’s highway. It is almost always dry, by reason of 
its position, and it was so well made that the annual cost 
of maintaining it is a bare two hundred francs. I must show 
it to you, for you cannot have seen it; you must have come 
by the picturesque way along the valley bottom, a road which 
the people decided to make for themselves three years later, 
so as to connect the various farms that were made there at 
that time. In three years ideas had rooted themselves in the 
common sense of this township, hitherto so lacking in intelli- 
gence that a passing traveler would perhaps have thought it 
hopeless to attempt to instil them. But to continue: 

‘<The establishment of the basket-maker was an example 
set before these poverty-stricken folk that they might profit 
by it. And if the road was to be a direct cause of the future 
wealth of the canton, all the primary forms of industry must 
be stimulated, or these two germs of a better state of things 
would come to nothing. My own work went forward by 
slow degrees, as I helped my osier farmer and wicker-worker 
and saw to the making of the road. 

‘‘T had two horses, and the timber merchant, the deputy- 
mayor, had three. He could only have them shod whenever 
he went over to Grenoble, so I induced a farrier to take up 
his abode here, and undertook to find him plenty of work. 
On the same day I met with a discharged soldier, who had 
nothing but his pension of a hundred francs, and was suffi- 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 45 


ciently perplexed about his future. He could read and write, 
so I engaged him as secretary to the mayor; as it happened, 
I was lucky enough to find a wife for him, and his dreams of 
happiness were fulfilled. 

‘‘ Both of these new families needed houses, as well as the 
basket-maker and twenty-two others from the crétin village ; 
soon afterwards twelve more households were established in 
the place. The workers in each of these families were at 
once producers and consumers. ‘They were masons, carpen- 
ters, joiners, slaters, blacksmiths, and glaziers; and there was 
work enough to last them for a long time, for had they not 
their own houses to build when they had finished those for 
other people? Seventy, in fact, were built in the commune 
during my second year of office. One form of production de- 
mands another. The additions to the population of the town- 
ship had created fresh wants, hitherto unknown among these 
dwellers in poverty. The wants gave rise to industries, and 
industries to trade, and the gains of trade raised the standard 
of comfort, which in its turn gave tl em practical ideas, so 
justly essential to their prosperity as a community. 

“¢ The various workmen wished to buy their bread ready 
baked, so we came to have a baker. Buckwheat could no 
longer be the food of a population which, awakened from its 
lethargy, had become essentially active. They lived on buck- 
wheat when I first came among them, and I wished to effect a 
change to rye, or a mixture of rye and wheat in the first 
instance, and finally to see a loaf of white bread even in the 
poorest household. Intellectual progress to my thinking was 
entirely dependent on a general improvement in the condi- 
tions of life. The presence of a butcher in a district says as 
much for its intelligence as for its wealth. The worker feeds 
himself, and a man who feeds himself thinks. I had made a 
very careful study of the soil, for I foresaw a time when it 
would be necessary to grow wheat. I was sure of launching 
the place in a very prosperous agricnltural career, and of 


46 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


doubling the population, when once it had begun to work. 
And now the time had come. 

‘¢M. Gravier, of Grenoble, owned a great deal of land in 
the commune, which brought him in no rent, but which 
might be turned into corn-growing land. He is the head of 
a department in the Prefecture, as you know. It was a kind- 
ness for his own countryside quite as much as my earnest en- 
treaties that won him over. He had very benevolently 
yielded to my importunities on former occasions, and I suc- 
ceeded in making it clear to him that in so doing he had 
wrought unconsciously for his own benefit. After several 
days spent in pleadings, consultation, and talk, the matter was 
thrashed out. J undertook to guarantee him against all risks 
in the undertaking, from which his wife, a woman of no 
imagination, sought to frighten him. He agreed to build four 
farmhouses with a hundred acres of land attached to each, and 
promised to advance the sums required to pay for clearing the 
ground, for seeds, ploughing gear, and cattle, and for making 
occupation roads. 

“‘T myself also started two farms, quite as much for the 
sake of bringing my waste land into cultivation as with a view 
to giving an object-lesson in the use of modern methods in 
agriculture. In six weeks’ time the population of the town 
increased to three hundred people. Homes for several fami- 
lies must be built on the six farms; there was a vast quan- 
tity of land to be broken up; the work called for laborers. 
Wheelwrights, drainmakers, journeymen and laborers of all 
kinds flocked in. The road to Grenoble was covered with 
carts that came and went. All the countryside was astir. 
The circulation of money had made every one anxious to earn 
it, apathy had ceased, the place had awakened. 

‘«'The story of M. Gravier, one of those who did so much 
for this canton, can be concluded in a few words. In spite 
of cautious misgivings, not unnatural in a man occupying an 
official position in a provincial town, he advanced more than 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 47 


forty thousand francs, on the faith of my promises, without 
knowing whether he should ever see them back again. To- 
day every one of his farms is let for a thousand francs. His 
tenants have thriven so well that each of them owns at least 
a hundred acres, three hundred sheep, twenty cows, ten oxen, 
and five horses, and employs more than twenty persons. 

‘But to resume: Our farms were ready by the end of the 
fourth year. Our wheat harvest seemed miraculous to the 
people in the district, heavy as the first crop off the land 
ought to be. How often during that year I trembled for the 
success of my work! Rain or drought might spoil everything 
by diminishing the belief in me that was already felt. When 
we began to grow wheat, it necessitated the mill that you have 
seen, which brings me in about five hundred francs a year. 
So the peasants say that ‘there is luck about me’ (that is the 
way they put it), and believe in me as they believe in their 
relics. These new undertakings—the farms, the mill, the 
plantations, and the roads—have given employment to all the 
various kinds of workers whom I had called in. Although 
the buildings fully represented the value of the sixty thousand 
francs of capital, which we sunk in the district, the outlay 
was more than returned to us by the profits on the sales which 
the consumers occasioned. I never ceased my efforts to put 
vigor into this industrial life which was just beginning. A 
nurseryman took my advice and came to settle in the place, 
and I preached wholesome doctrine to the poor concerning 
the planting of fruit trees, in order that some day they should , 
obtain a monopoly of the sale of fruit in Grenoble. 

‘¢¢ Vou take your cheeses there as it is,’ I used to tell them, 
‘why not take poultry, eggs, vegetables, game, hay, and straw, 
and so forth?’ All my counsels were a source of fortune; it 
was a question of who should follow them first. A number 
of little businesses were started; they went on first but slowly, 
yet from day to day their progress became more rapid; and 
now sixty carts full of the various products of the district set out 


48 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


every Monday for Grenoble, and there is more buckwheat grown 
for poultry food than they used to sow for human consumption. 
The trade in timber grew to be so considerable that it was 
subdivided, and since the fourth year of our industrial era, we 
have had dealers in firewood, squared timber, planks, bark, 
and later, on, in charcoal. In the end four new sawmills 
were set up, to turn out the planks and beams of timber. 

‘¢ When the ex-mayor had acquired a few business notions, 
he felt the necessity of learning to read and write. He com- 
pared the prices that were asked for wood in various neighbor- 
hoods, and found such differences in his favor that he secured 
new customers in one place after another, and now a third 
of the trade in the department passes through his hands. 
There has been such a sudden increase in our traffic that we 
find constant work for three wagon-builders and two harness- 
makers, each of them employing three hands at least. Lastly, 
the quantity of ironware that we use is so large that an agri- 
cultural implement and tool-maker has removed into the town, 
and is very well satisfied with the result. 

‘«The desire of gain develops a spirit of ambition, which 
has ever since impelled our workers to extend their field from 
the township to the canton, and from the canton to the de- 
partment, so as to increase their profits by increasing their 
sales. I had only to say a word to point out new openings to 
them, and their own sense did the rest. Four years had been 
sufficient to change the face of the township. When I had 
come through it first, I did not catch the slightest sound ; but 
in less than five years from that time there were life and bustle 
everywhere. The gay songs, the shrill or murmuring sounds 
made by the tools in the workshops rang pleasantly in my ears. 
I watched the comings and goings of a busy population con- 
gregated in the clean and wholesome new town, where plenty 
of trees had been planted. Every one of them seemed con- 
scious of a happy lot, every face shone with the content that 
comes through a life of useful toil. 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 49 


‘‘T look upon these five years as the first epoch of prosperity 
in the history of our town,’’ the doctor went on after a pause. 
“‘ During that time I had prepared the ground and sowed the 
seed in men’s minds as well as in the land. Henceforward 
industrial progress could not be stayed, the population was 
bound to go forward, A second epoch was about to begin. 
This little world very soon desired to be better clad. A shoe- 
maker came, and with him a haberdasher, a tailor, and a 
hatter. This dawn of luxury brought us a butcher and a 
grocer, and a midwife, who became very necessary to me, for 
I lost a great deal of time over maternity cases. The stubbed 
wastes yielded excellent harvests, and the superior quality of 
our agricultural produce was maintained through the increased 
supply of manure. My enterprise could now develop itself ; 
everything followed on quite naturally. 

‘¢ When the houses had been rendered wholesome, and their 
inmates gradually persuaded to feed and clothe themselves 
better, I wanted the dumb animals to feel the benefit of these 
beginnings of civilization. All the excellence of cattle, 
whether as a race or as individuals, and, in consequence, the 
quality of the milk and meat, depends upon the care that is 
expended upon them. I took the sanitation of cowsheds for 
the text of my sermons. I showed them how an animal that 
is properly housed and well cared for is more profitable than 
a lean neglected beast, and the comparison wrought a gradual 
change for the better in the lot of the cattle in the commune. 
Not one of them was ill-treated. The cows and oxen were 
rubbed down as in Switzerland and Auvergne. Sheepfolds, 
stables, byres, dairies, and barns were rebuilt after the pattern 
of the roomy, well-ventilated, and consequently healthy stead- 
ings that M. Gravier and I had constructed. Our tenants 
became my apostles. They made rapid converts of unbe- 
lievers, demonstrating the soundness of my doctrines by their 
prompt results. I loaned money to those who needed it, giving 
the preference to hard-working poor people, because they 

4 


50 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


served as an example. Any unsound or sickly cattle or beasts 
of poor quality were quickly disposed of by my advice, and 
replaced by fine specimens. In this way our dairy produce 
came, in time, to command higher prices in the market than 
that sent by other communes. We had splendid herds, and, 
as a consequence, capital leather. 

‘¢This step forward was of great importance, and in this 
wise: In rural economy nothing can be regarded as trifling. 
Our hides used to fetch scarcely anything, and the leather we 
made was of little value, but when once our leather and hides 
were improved, tanneries were easily established along the 
waterside. We became tanners, and business rapidly increased. 

“¢ Wine, properly speaking, had been hitherto unknown ; a 
thin, sour beverage like verjuice had been their only drink, 
but now wineshops were established to supply a natural de- 
mand. ‘The oldest tavern was enlarged and transformed into 
an inn, which furnished mules to pilgrims to the Grande 
Chartreuse who began to come our way, and after two years 
there was enough business for two innkeepers. 

“‘The justice of the peace died just as our second pros- 
perous epoch began, and, luckily for us, his successor had 
formerly been a notary in Grenoble who had lost most of his” 
fortune by a bad speculation, though enough of it yet re- 
mained to cause him to be looked upon in the village as a 
wealthy man. It was M. Gravier who induced him to settle 
among us. He built himself a comfortable house and helped 
me by uniting his efforts to mine. He also laid out a farm, 
and broke up and cleaned some of the waste land, and at this 
moment he has three chalets up above on the mountain side. 
He has a large family. He dismissed the old registrar and the 
clerk, and in their place installed better educated men, who 
worked far harder, moreover, than their predecessors had 
done. One of the heads of these two new households started 
a distillery of potato-spirit, and the other was a wool-washer ; 
each combined these occupations with their official work, 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 51 


and in this way two valuable industries were created among 
us. 

<‘ Now that the commune had some revenues of its own, no 
opposition was raised in any quarter when they were spent on 
building a town-hall, with a free school for elementary educa- 
tion in the building and accommodation for a teacher. For 
this important post I had selected a poor priest who had taken 
the oath, and had therefore been cast out by the department, 
and who at last found a refuge among us for his old age. The 
schoolmistress is a very worthy woman who had lost all that 
she had, and was in great distress. We made up a nice little 
sum for her, and she has just opened a boarding-school for 
girls to which the wealthy farmers hereabouts are beginning to 
send their daughters. 

‘<< Tf so far, sir, I have been entitled to tell you the story of 
my own doings as the chronicler of this little spot of earth, I 
have reached the point when M. Janvier, the new parson, 
began to divide the work of regeneration with me. He has 
been a second Fénelon, unknown beyond the narrow limits 
of a country parish, and by some secret of his own has in- 
fused a spirit of brotherliness and of charity among these 
folk that has made them almost like one large family. M. 
Dufau, the justice of the peace, was a later comer, but he in 
an equal degree deserves the gratitude of the people here. 

‘*T will put the whole position before you in figures that 
will make it clearer than any words of mine. At this 
moment the commune owns two hundred acres of woodland 
and a hundred and sixty acres of meadow. Without running 
up the rates, we give a hundred crowns to supplement the 
curé’s stipend, we pay two hundred francs to the rural police- 
man, and as much again to the schoolmaster and school- 
mistress. The maintenance of the roads costs us five hundrea 
francs, while necessary repairs to the town-hall, the parsonage, 
and the church, with some few other expenses, also amount to 
asimilar sum. In fifteen years’ time there will be a thousand 


52 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


francs’ worth of wood to fell for every hundred francs’ worth 
cut now, and the taxes will not cost the inhabitants a penny. 
This commune is bound to become one of the richest in 
France. But perhaps I am taxing your patience, sir?’’ said 
Benassis, suddenly discovering that his companion wore such 
a pensive expression that it seemed as though his attention was 
wandering. 

““No! no!’’ answered the commandant. 

‘‘Qur trade, handicrafts, and agriculture so far only sup- 
plied the needs of the district,’ the doctor went on. ‘Ata 
certain point our prosperity came to a standstill. I wanted a 
postoffice, and sellers of tobacco, stationery, powder and shot. 
The receiver of taxes had hitherto preferred to live elsewhere, 
but now I succeeded in persuading him to take up his abode 
in the town, holding out as inducements the pleasantness of 
the place and of the new society. As time and place per- 
mitted I had succeeded in producing a supply of everything 
for which I had first created a need, in attracting families of 
hard-working people into the district, and in implanting a de- 
sire to own land in them all. So by degrees, as they saved a 
little money, the waste land began to be broken up; spade 
husbandry and small holdings increased ; so did the value of 
property on the mountain. 

‘‘'Those struggling folk who, when I knew them first, used 
to walk over to Grenoble carrying their few cheeses for sale, 
now made the journey comfortably in a cart, and took fruit, 
eggs, chickens and turkeys, and before they were aware of it, 
every one was a little richer. Even those who came off worse 
had a garden at any rate, and grew early vegetables and fruit. 
It became the children’s work to watch the cattle in the fields, 
and at last it was found to be a waste of time to bake bread 
at home. Here were signs of prosperity ! 

‘* But if this place was to be a permanent forge of industry, 
fuel must be constantly added to the fire. The town had not 
as yet a renascent industry which could maintain this com- 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN, 53 


mercial process, an industry which should make great trans- 
actions, a warehouse, and a market necessary. It is not 
enough that a country should lose none of the money that 
forms its capital; you will not increase its prosperity by 
more or less ingenious devices for causing this amount to 
circulate by means of production and consumption, through 
the greatest possible number of hands. That is not where 
your problem lies. When a country is fully developed and 
its production keeps pace with its consumption, if private 
wealth is to increase as well as the wealth of the community 
at large, there must be exchanges with other communities, 
which will keep a balance on the right side of the balance- 
sheet. This thought has led states with a limited territorial 
basis like Tyre, Carthage, Venice, Holland, and England, 
for instance, to secure the carrying trade. I cast about for 
some such notion as this to apply to our little world, so as to 
inaugurate a third commercial epoch. Our town is so much 
like any other, that our prosperity was scarcely visible to a 
passing stranger; it was only for me that it was astonishing. 
The folk had come together by degrees ; they themselves were 
a part of the change, and could not judge of its effects as a 
whole. 

‘¢Seven years had gone by when I met with two strangers, 
the real benefactors of the place, which perhaps some day they 
will transform into a large town. One of them is a Tyrolese, 
an exceedingly clever fellow, who makes rough shoes for 
country people’s wear, and boots for people of fashion in 
Grenoble as no one can make them, not even in Paris itself. 
He was a poor strolling musician, who, singing and working, 
had made his way through Italy ; one of those busy Germans 
who fashion the tools for their own work, and make the in- 
strument that they play upon. When he came to the town 
he asked if any one wanted a pair of shoes. They sent him 
to me, and I gave him an order for two pairs of boots, for 
which he made his own lasts. The foreigner’s skill surprised 


54 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


me. He gave accurate and consistent answers to the ques- 
tions I put, and his face and manner confirmed the good 
opinion I had formed of him. I suggested that he should 
settle in the place, undertaking to assist him in business in 
every way that I could; in fact, I put a fairly large sum of 
money at his disposal. He accepted my offer. I had my 
own ideas in this. The quality of our leather had improved ; 
and why should we not use it ourselves, and before very long 
make our own shoes at moderate prices? 

‘¢It was the basket-maker’s business over again on a larger 
scale. Chance had put an exceedingly clever hard-working 
man in my way, and he must be retained so that a steady and 
profitable trade might be given to the place. There is a con- 
stant demand for foot-gear, and a very slight difference in 
price is felt at once by the purchaser. 

‘« This was my reasoning, sir, and fortunately events have 
justified it. At this time we have five tanyards, each of 
which has its bark-mill. They take all the hides produced 
in the department itself, and even draw part of their supply 
from Provence; and yet the Tyrolese uses more leather 
than they can produce, and has forty workpeople in his 
employ ! 

‘©T happened on the other man after a fashion no whit less 
strange, but you might find the story tedious. He is just an 
ordinary peasant, who discovered a cheaper way of making 
the great broad-brimmed hats that are worn in this part of the 
world. He sells them in other cantons, and even sends them 
into Switzerland and Savoy. So long as the quality and the 
low prices can be maintained, here are two inexhaustible 
sources of wealth for the canton, which suggested to my mind 
the idea of establishing three fairs in the year. The prefect, 
amazed at our industrial progress, lent his aid in obtaining 
the royal ordinance which authorized them, and last year we 
held our three fairs. They are known as far as Savoy as the 
Shoe Fair and the Hat Fair. 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 55 


“©The head clerk of a notary in Grenoble heard of these 
changes. He was poor, but he is a well-educated, hard- 
working young fellow, and Mlle. Gravier was engaged to be 
married to him. He went to Paris to ask for an authoriza- 
tion to establish himself here as a notary, and his request 
was granted. As he did not have to pay for his appointment, 
he could afford to build a house in the market-square of 
the new town, opposite the house of the justice of the peace. 
We have a market once a week, and a considerable amount 
of business is transacted in corn and cattle. 

‘‘ Next year a druggist surely ought to come among us, and 
next we want a clockmaker, a furniture dealer, and a book- 
seller; and so, by degrees, we shall have all the desirable 
luxuries of life. Who knows but that at last we shall have a 
number of substantial houses, and give ourselves all the airs 
of asmall city? Education has made such strides that there 
has never been any opposition made at the council board 
when I proposed that we should restore our church and 
build a parsonage; nor when I brought forward a plan for 
laying out a fine open space, planted with trees, where the 
fairs could be held, and a further scheme for a survey of the 
township, so that its future streets should be wholesome, 
spacious, and wisely planned. 

‘¢ This is how we came to have nineteen hundred hearths in 
the place of a hundred and thirty-seven ; three thousand head 
of cattle instead of eight hundred ; and for a population of 
seven hundred, no less than two thousand persons are living in 
the township, or three thousand, if the people down the valley 
are included. There are twelve houses belonging to wealthy 
people in the commune, there are a hundred well-to-do fami- 
lies, and two hundred more which are thriving. The rest 
have their own exertions to look to. Every one knows how 
to read and write, and we subscribe to seventeen different 
newspapers. 

‘We have poor people still among us—there are far too 


56 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


many of them, in fact; but we have no beggars, and there 
is work enough for all. I have so many patients that my 
daily round taxes the powers of two horses. I can go 
anywhere for five miles round at any hour without fear; 
for if any one was minded to fire a shot at me, his life 
would not be worth ten minutes’ purchase. The undemon- 
strative affection of the people is my sole gain from all 
these changes, except the radiant ‘Good-day, M. Benassis,’ 
that every one gives me asI pass. You will understand, of 
course, that the wealth incidentally acquired through my model 
farms has only been a means and not an end,”’ 

‘‘ If every one followed your example in other places, sir, 
France would be great indeed, and might laugh at the rest of 
Europe!’ cried Genestas enthusiastically. 

‘But I have kept you out here for half an hour,’’ said 
Benassis ; ‘‘it is growing dark, let us go in to dinner.” 


The doctor’s house, on the side facing the garden, consists 
of a ground floor and a single story, with a row of five win- 
dows in each; dormer windows also project from the tiled 
mansard roof. The green-painted shutters are in startling 
contrast with the gray tones of the wall. A vine wanders along 
the whole side of the house, a pleasant strip of green like a 
frieze, between the two stories. A few struggling Bengal roses 
make shift to live as best they may, half drowned at times by 
the drippings from the gutterless eves. 

As you enter the large vestibule, the salon lies to your right ; 
it contains four windows, two of which look into the yard, and 
two into the garden. Ceiling and wainscot are paneled, and 
the walls are hung with seventeenth century tapestry—pathetic 
evidence that the room had been the object of the late owner’s 
aspiration, and that he had lavished all that he could spare 
upon it. The great roomy armchairs, covered with brocaded 
damask; the old-fashioned gilded candle-sconces above the 
chimney-piece, and the window curtains with their heavy 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 57 


tassels, showed that the curé had been a wealthy man. Benassis 
had made some additions to this furniture, which was not 
without a character of its own. He had placed two smaller 
tables, decorated with carved wooden garlands, between the 
windows on opposite sides of the room, and had put a 
clock, in a case of tortoise shell, inlaid with copper, upon the 
mantle-shelf. The doctor seldom occupied the salon; its 
atmosphere was damp and close, like that of a room that is 
always kept shut. Memories of the dead curé still lingered 
about it ; the peculiar scent of his tobacco seemed to pervade 
the corner by the hearth where he had been wont to sit. The 
two great easy-chairs were symmetrically arranged on either 
side of the fire, which had not been lighted since the time of 
M. Gravier’s visit; the bright flames from the pine logs lighted 
the room. } 

‘¢ The evenings are chilly even now,’’ said Benassis; ‘‘it is 
pleasant to see a fire.”’ 

Genestas was meditating. He was beginning to under- 
stand the doctor’s indifference to his every-day surroundings. 

‘*It is surprising to me, sir, that you, who possess real public 
spirit, should have made no effort to enlighten the govern- 
ment, after accomplishing so much.”’ 

Benassis began to laugh, but without bitterness; he said, 
rather sadly— ? 

“*'You mean that I should draw up some sort of memorial 
on various ways of civilizing France? You are not the first 
to suggest it, sir; M. Gravier has forestalled you. Unluckily, 
governments cannot be enlightened, and a government which 
regards itself as a diffuser of light is the least open to enlight- 
enment. What we have done for our canton, every mayor 
ought, of course, to do for his; the magistrate should work for 
his town, the sub-prefect for his district, the prefect for the 
department, and the minister for France, each acting in his 
own sphere of interest. For the few miles of country road 
that I persuaded our people to make, another would succeed 


58 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


in constructing a canal or a highway; and for my encourage: 
ment of the peasants’ trade in hats, a minister would emanci- 
pate France from the industrial yoke of the foreigner by 
encouraging the manufacture of clocks in different places, by 
helping to bring to perfection our iron and steel, our tools 
and appliances, or by bringing silk or dyer’s woad into culti- 
vation. 

“*In commerce, ‘encouragement’ does not mean protec- 
tion. A really wise policy should aim at making a country 
independent of foreign supply, but this should be effected with- 
out resorting to the pitiful shifts of customs duties and prohibi- 
tions. Industries must work out their own salvation, com- 
petition is the life of trade. A protected industry goes to 
sleep, and monopoly, like the protective tariff, kills it out- 
right. The country upon which all others depend for their 
supplies will be the land which will promulgate free trade, for 
it will be conscious of its power to produce its manufactures 
at prices lower than those of any of its competitors. France 
is in a better position to attain this end than England, for 
France alone possesses an amount of territory sufficiently 
extensive to maintain a supply of agricultural produce at 
prices that will enable the worker to live on low wages; the 
Administration should keep this end in view, for therein lies 
the whole modern question. I have not devoted my life to 
this study, dear sir; I found my work by accident, and late 
in the day. Such simple things as these are too slight, more- 
over, to build into a system; there is nothing wonderful 
about them, they do not lend themselves to theories; it is 
their misfortune to be merely practically useful. And then 
work cannot be done quickly. The man who means to suc- 
ceed in these ways must daily look to find within himself 
the stock of courage needed for the day, a courage in reality 
of the rarest kind, though it does not seem hard to practise, 
and meets with little recognition—the courage of the school- 
master, who must say the same things over and over again. 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 59 


We all honor the man who has shed his blood on the battle- 
field, as you have done; but we ridicule this other whose life- 
fire is slowly consumed in repeating the same words to children 
of the same age. There is no attraction for any of us in 
obscure well-doing. We know nothing of the civic virtue 
that led the great men of ancient times to serve their country 
in the lowest rank whenever they did not command. Our 
age is afflicted with a disease that makes each of us seek to 
rise above his fellows, and there are more saints than shrines 
among us. 

««This is how it has come to pass. ‘The Monarchy fell, and 
we lost honor, Christian virtue faded with the religion of our 
forefathers, and our own ineffectual attempts at government 
have destroyed patriotism. Ideas can never utterly perish, 
so these beliefs linger on in our midst, but they do not influ- 
ence the great mass of the people, and society has no support 
but egoism. Every individual believes in himself. For us 
the future means egoism; further than that we cannot see. 
The great man who shall save us from the shipwreck which is 
imminent will no doubt avail himself of individualism when 
he makes a nation of us once more; but until this regenera- 
tion comes, we bide our time in a materialistic and utilitarian 
age. Utilitarianism—to this conclusion have we come. We 
are all rated, not at our just worth, but according to our 
social importance. People will scarcely look at an energetic 
man if he is in shirt-sleeves. The government itself is per- 
vaded by this idea. A minister sends a paltry medal to a 
sailor who has saved a dozen lives at the risk of his own, while 
the deputy who sells his vote to those in power receives the 
Cross of the Legion of Honor. 

‘‘ Woe to a people made up of such men as these! For na- 
tions, like men, oweall the strength and vitality that is in them to 
noble thoughts and aspirations, and men’s feelings shape their 
faith. But when self-interest has taken the place of faith, and 
each one of us thinks only of himself, and believes in himself 


60 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


alone, how can you expect to find among us much of that 
civil courage whose very essence consists in self-renunciation ? 
The same principle underlies both military and civil courage, 
although you soldiers are called upon to yield your lives up 
once and for all, while ours are given slowly drop by drop, 
and the battle is the same for both, although it takes different 
forms. : 

«<The man who would fain civilize the lowliest spot on earth 
needs something besides wealth for the task. Knowledge is 
still more necessary ; and knowledge, and patriotism, and in- 
tegrity are worthless unless they are accompanied by a firm 
determination on his part to set his own personal interests 
completely aside, and to devote himself to a social idea. 
France, no doubt, possesses more than one well-educated man 
and more than one patriot in every commune; but I am fully 
persuaded that not every canton can produce a man who to. 
these valuable qualifications unites the unflagging will and 
pertinacity with which a blacksmith hammers out iron. 

‘¢*The destroyer and the builder are two manifestations of 
will: the one prepares the way, and the other accomplishes 
the work; the first appears in the guise of a spirit of evil, and 
the second seems like the spirit of good. Glory falls to the 
destroyer, while the builder is forgotten; for evil makes a 
noise in the world that rouses little souls to admiration, while 
good deeds are slow to make themselves heard.  Self-love 
leads us to prefer the more conspicuous part. If it should 
happen that any public work is undertaken without an in- 
terested motive, it will only be by accident, until the day 
when education has changed our ways of regarding things in 
France. 

“¢ Vet suppose that this change had come to pass, and that 
all of us were public-spirited citizens ; in spite of our comfort- 
able lives among trivialities, should we not be in a fair way to 
become the most wearied, wearisome, and unfortunate race of 
Philistines under the sun ? 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 61 


‘¢T am not at the helm of state, the decision of great ques- 
tions of this kind is not within my province; but, setting 
these considerations aside, there are other difficulties in the 
way of laying down hard and fast rules as to government. In 
the matter of civilization, everything is relative. Ideas that 
suit one country admirably are fatal in another—men’s minds 
are as various as the soils of the globe. If we have so often 
been ill governed, it is because a faculty for government, like 
taste, is the outcome of a very rare and lofty attitude of mind. 
The qualifications for the work are found in a natural bent of 
the soul rather than in the possession of scientific formulz. 
No one need fear, however, to call himself a statesman, for 
his actions and motives cannot be justly estimated ; his real 
judges axe far away, and the results of his deeds are even more 
remote. We have a great respect here in France for men of 
ideas—-a keen intellect exerts a great attraction for us; but 
ideas are of little value where a resolute will is the one thing 
needful, Administration, as a matter of fact, does not con- 
sist in forcing more or less wise methods and ideas upon the 
great mass of the nation, but in giving to the ideas, good or 
bad, that they already possess a practical turn which will 
make them conduce to the general welfare of the state. If 
old-established prejudices and customs bring a country into a 
bad way, the people will renounce their errors of their own 
accord. Are not losses the result of economical errors of 
every kind? And is it not, therefore, to every one’s interest 
to rectify them in the long-run ? 

‘* Luckily I found a blank tablet in this district. They have 
followed my advice, and the land is well cultivated; but there 
had been no previous errors in agriculture, and the soil was 
good to begin with, so that it has been easy to introduce the 
five-ply shift, artificial grasses, and potatoes. My methods 
did not clash with the people’s prejudices. The faultily con- 
structed ploughshares in use in some parts of France were un- 
known here, the hoe sufficed for the little field work that they 


62 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


did. Our wheelwright extolled my wheeled ploughs because 
he wished to increase his own business, so I secured an ally in 
him ; but in this matter, as in all others, I sought to make the 
good of one conduce to the good of all. 

**Then I turned my attention to,another kind of produc- 
tion, that should increase the welfare rather than the wealth 
of these poor folk. I have brought nothing from without into 
this district; I have simply encouraged the people to seek 
beyond its limits for a market for their produce, a measure 
that could not but increase their prosperity in a way that they 
felt immediately. They had no idea of the fact, but they 
themselves were my apostles, and their works preached my 
doctrines. Something else must also be borne in mind. We 
are barely five leagues from Grenoble. There is plenty of 
demand in a large city for produce of all kinds, but not every 
commune is situated at the gates of acity. In every similar 
undertaking, the nature, situation, and resources of the country 
must be taken into consideration, and a careful study must be 
made of the soil, of the people themselves, and of many other 
things; and no one should expect to have vines grow in 
Normandy. So no tasks can be more various than those of 
government, and its general principles must be few in number. 
The law is uniform, but not so the land and the minds and 
customs of those who dwell in it; and the administration of 
the law is the art of carrying it out in such a manner that no 
injury is done to people’s interests. Every place must be 
considered separately. 

‘On the other side of the mountain, at the foot of which 
our deserted village lies, they find it impossible to use wheeled 
ploughs, because the soil is not deep enough. Now if the 
mayor of the commune were to take it into his head to follow 
in our footsteps, he would be the ruin of his neighborhood. 
I advised him to plant vineyards; they had a capital vintage 
last year in the little district, and their wine is exchanged for 
our corn, 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 63 


‘ Then, lastly, it must be remembered that my words car- 
ried a certain.weight with the people to whom I preached, 
and that we were continually brought into close contact. I 
cured my peasants’ complaints; an easy task, for a nourishing 
diet is, as a rule, all that is needed to restore them to health 
and strength. Either through thrift, or through sheer poverty, 
the country people starve themselves ; any illness among them 
is caused in this way, and as a rule they enjoy very fair health. 

<“‘When I first decided to devote myself to this life of 
obscure renunciation, I was in doubt for a long while whether 
to become a curé, a country doctor, or a justice of the peace. 
It is not without reason that people speak collectively of the 
priest, the lawyer, and the doctor as ‘men of the black robe’ 
—-so the saying goes. The first heals the wounds of the soul, 
the second those of the purse, and the third those of the body. 
They represent the three principal elements necessary to the 
existence of society—conscience, property, and health. At 
one time the first, and at a later period the second was all- 
important in the state. Our predecessors on this earth 
thought, perhaps not without reason, that the priest, who 
prescribed what men should think, ought to be paramount ; 
so the priest was king, pontiff, and judge in one, for in those 
days belief and faith were everything. All this has been 
changed in our day ; and we must even take our epoch as we 
find it. But I, for one, believe that the progress of civiliza- 
tion and the welfare of the people depend on these three men. 
They are the three powers who bring home to the people’s 
minds the ways in which facts, interests, and principles affect 
them. They themselves are three great results produced in the 
midst of the nation by the operation of events, by the owner- 
ship of property, and by the growth of ideas. Time goes on 
and brings changes to pass, property increases or diminishes 
in men’s hands, all the various readjustments have to be duly 
regulated, and in this way principles of social order are estab- 
lished. If civilization is to spread itself, and production is 


64 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


to be increased, the people must be made to understand the 
way in which the interests of the individual harmonize with 
national interests which resolve themselves into facts, interests, 
and principles. As these three professions are bound to deal 
with these issues of human life, it seemed to me that they 
must be the most powerful civilizing agencies of our time. 
They alone afford to a man of wealth the opportunity of miti- 
gating the fate of the poor, with whom they daily bring him 
in contact. 

‘*The peasant is always more willing to listen to the man 
who lays down rules for saving him from bodily ills than to 
the priest who exhorts him to save his soul. The first speaker 
can talk of this earth, the scene of the peasant’s labors, while 
the priest is bound to talk to him of heaven, with which, un- 
fortunately, the peasant nowadays concerns himself very little 
indeed ; I say unfortunately, because the doctrine of a future 
life is not only a consolation, but a means by which men may 
be governed. Is not religion the one power that sanctions 
social laws? We have but lately vindicated the existence of 
God. In the absence of a religion, the government was 
driven to invent ‘ The Terror,’ in order to carry its laws into 
effect ; but the terror was the fear of man, and it has passed 
away. 

‘When a peasant is ill, when he is forced to lie on his 
pallet, and while he is recovering, he cannot help himself, he 
is forced to listen to logical reasoning, which he can under- 
stand quite well if it is put clearly before him. This thought 
made a doctor of me. My calculations for the peasants were 
made along with them. I never gave advice unless I was 
quite sure of the results, and in this way compelled them to 
admit the wisdom of my views. The people require infalli- 
bility. Infallibility was the making of Napoleon ; he would 
have been a god if he had not filled the world with the sound 
of his fall at Waterloo. If Mahomet founded a permanent 
religion after conquering the third part of the globe, it was by 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 65 


dint of concealing his deathbed from the crowd. ‘The same 
rules hold good for the great conqueror and for the provincial 
mayor, and a nation or a commune is much the same sort of 
crowd ; indeed, the great multitude of mankind is the same 
everywhere. 

<‘T have been exceedingly firm with those whom I have 
helped with money; if I had not been inflexible on this 
point, they all would have laughed at me. Peasants, no less 
than worldlings, end by despising the man that they can de- 
ceive. He has been cheated. Clearly, then, he must have 
been weak ; and it is might alone that governs the world. I 
have never charged a penny for my professional advice, ex- 
cept to those who were evidently rich people; but I have not 
allowed the value of my services to be overlooked at all, 
and I always make them pay for medicine unless the patient 
is exceedingly poor. If my peasants do not pay me in 
money, they are quite aware that they are in my debt; some- 
times they satisfy their consciences by bringing oats for my 
horses, or corn, when it is cheap. But if the miller were to 
send me some eels as a return for my advice, I should tell 
him that he is too generous for such a small matter. My 
politeness bears fruit. In the winter I shall have some sacks 
of flour for the poor. Ah! sir, they have kind hearts, these 
people, if one does not slight them, and to-day I think more 
good and less evil of them than I did formerly.”’ 

<‘ What a deal of trouble you have taken! ’’ said Genestas. 

‘©Not at all,’’ answered Benassis. ‘‘It was no more 
trouble to say something useful than to chatter about trifles ; 
and whether I chatted or joked, the talk always turned on 
them and their concerns wherever I went. They would not 
listen to me at first. I had to overcome their dislikes; I be- 
longed to the middle classes—that is to say, I was a natural 
enemy. I found the struggle amusing. An easy or an 
uneasy conscience—that is all the difference that lies between 
doing well or ill; the trouble is the same in either case. If 

5 


66 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


scoundrels would but behave themselves properly, they might 
be millionaires instead of being hanged. That is all.’’ 

‘<The dinner is growing cold, sir! ’’ cried Jacquotte, in the 
doorway. 

Genestas caught the doctor’s arm. 

““T have only one comment to offer on what I have just 
heard,’’ he remarked. ‘I am not acquainted with any 
account of the wars of Mahomet, so that I can form no 
opinions as to his military talents; but if you had only 
watched the Emperor’s tactics during the campaign in France, 
you might well have taken him for a god; and if he was 
beaten on the field of Waterloo, it was because he was more 
than mortal, it was because the earth found his weight too 
heavy to bear, and sprang from under his feet! On every 
other subject I entirely agree with you, and God’s thunder! 
whoever hatched you did a good day’s work.”’ 

“‘Come,’’ exclaimed Benassis with a smile, ‘‘let us sit down 
to dinner.”’ 

The walls of the dining-room were paneled from floor to 
ceiling, and painted gray. The furniture consisted of a few 
straw-bottomed chairs, a sideboard, some cupboards, a stove, 
and the late owner’s celebrated clock; there were white 
curtains in the window, and a white cloth on the table, about 
which there was no sign of luxury. The dinner service was 
of plain white earthenware ; the soup, made after the tradi- 
tions of the late curé, was the most concentrated kind of broth 
that was ever set to simmer by any mortal cook. The 
doctor and his guest had scarcely finished it when a man 
rushed into the kitchen, and, in spite of Jacquotte, suddenly 
invaded the dining-room. He showed evident signs of agi- 
tation and fright. 

“‘ Well, what is it?’’ asked the doctor. 

‘Tt is this, sir. The mistress, our Mme. Vigneau, has 
turned as white as white can be, so that we are frightened 
about her.”’ 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 67 


‘«‘ Oh, well, then,’’ Benassis said cheerfully, ‘‘ I must leave 
the table,’’ and he rose to go. 

In spite of the doctor’s entreaties, Genestas flung down his 
table-napkin, and swore in soldierly fashion that he would not 
finish his dinner without his host. He returned indeed to the 
salon ; and as he warmed himself by the fire, he thought over 
the troubles that no man may escape, the troubles that are 
found in every lot that it falls to man to endure here upon 
earth. 

Benassis soon came back, and the two future friends sat 
down again. 

‘¢ Taboureau has just come up to speak to you,”’ said Jac- 
quotte to her master, as she brought in the dishes that she 
had kept hot for them. 

<¢ Who can be ill at his place?’’ asked the doctor. 

‘¢No one is ill, sir. I think from what he said that it is 
some matter of his own that he wants to ask you about ; 
he is coming back again.”’ 

‘‘Very good. This Taboureau,’’ Benassis went on, ad- 
dressing Genestas, ‘‘ is for me a whole philosophical treatise ; 
take a good look at him when he comes, he is sure to 
amuse you. He was a laborer, a thrifty hard-working man, 
eating little and getting through a great deal of work. As 
soon as the rogue came to have a few crowns of his own, 
his intelligence began to develop ; he watched the progress 
which I had originated in this little district with an eye to 
his own profit. He has made quite a fortune in eight 
years’ time; that is to say, a fortune for our part of the 
world. Very likely he may have a couple of score thou- 
sand francs by now. But if I were to give you a thousand 
guesses, you would never find out how he made the money. 
He is a usurer, and his scheme of usury is so profoundly and 
so cleverly based upon the requirements of the whole canton 
that I should merely waste my time if I were to take it upon 
myself to undeceive them as to the benefits which they reap, 


68 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


in their own opinion, from their dealings with Taboureau. 
When this devil ofa fellow saw every one cultivating his own 
plot of ground, he hurried about buying grain so as to supply 
the poor with the requisite seed. Here, as everywhere else, 
the peasants and even some of the farmers had no ready 
money with which to pay for seed. To some, Master 
Taboureau would lend a sack of barley, for which he was to 
receive a sack of rye at harvest-time, and to others a measure 
of wheat for a sack of flour. At the present day the man has 
extended this curious business of his all over the department ; 
and unless something happens to prevent him, he will go on 
and very likely make a million. Well, my dear sir, Tabour- 
eau the laborer, an obliging, hard-working, good-natured 
fellow, used to lend a helping hand to any one who asked 
him ; but as his gains have increased Monsieur Taboureau has 
become litigious, arrogant, and somewhat given to sharp prac- 
tice. The more money he makes, the worse he grows. The 
moment that the peasant forsakes his life of toil pure and simple 
for the leisured existence of the landowning classes, he becomes 
intolerable. There is a certain kind of character, partly vir- 
tuous, partly vicious, half-educated, half-ignorant, which will 
always be the despair of governments. You will see an 
example of it in Taboureau. He looks simple, and even 
doltish ; but when his interests are in question, he is certainly 
profoundly clever.’’ 

A heavy footstep announced the approach of the grain 
lender. 

“< Come in, Taboureau! ’’ cried Benassis. 

Thus forewarned by the doctor, the commandant scrutin- 
ized the peasant in the doorway. ‘Taboureau was decidedly 
thin, and stooped a little. He had a bulging forehead cov- 
ered with wrinkles, and a cavernous face, in which two small 
gray eyes with a dark spot in either of them seemed to be 
pierced rather than set. The lines of the miser’s mouth were 
close and firm, and his narrow chin turned up to meet an ex- 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 69 


aggeratedly hooked nose. His hair was turning gray already, 
and deep furrows which converged above the prominent 
cheek-bones spoke of the wily shrewdness of a horse dealer 
and of a life spent in journeying about. He wore a blue coat 
in fairly clean condition, the square side-pocket flaps stuck 
out above his hips, and the skirts of the coats hung loose in 
front, so that a white-flowered waistcoat was visible. There 
he stood firmly planted on both feet, leaning upon a thick 
stick with a knob at the end of it. A little spaniel had fol- 
lowed the grain dealer, in spite of Jacquotte’s efforts, and 
was crouching beside him. 

«‘Well, what is it!’’ Benassis asked as he turned to this 
being. 

Taboureau gave a suspicious glance at the stranger seated 
at the doctor’s table, and said— 

‘Tt is not a case of illness, AZ le Maire, but you under- 
stand how to doctor the ailments of the purse just as well as 
those of the body. We have had a little difficulty with a 
man over at Saint Laurent, and I have come to ask your ad- 
vice about it.’’ 

<‘ Why not see the justice of the peace or his clerk ?”’ 

‘©Oh, because you are so much cleverer, sir, and I shall 
feel more sure about my case if I can have your countenance.”’ 

‘“ My good Taboureau, I am willing to give medical advice 
to the poor without charging for it; but I cannot look into 
the lawsuits of a man who is as wealthy as you are for 
nothing. It costs a good deal to acquire that kind of knowl- 
edgex ” 

Taboureau began to twist his hat about. 

‘‘If you want my advice, in order to save the hard coin 
you would have to pay to the lawyer folk over in Grenoble, 
you must send a bag of rye tothe widow Martin, the woman 
who is bringing up the charity children.”’ 

“¢ Dame’ I will do it with all my heart, sir, if you think 
it necessary. Can I talk about this business of mine without 


70 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


troubling the gentleman there?’’ he added, with a look at 
Genestas. 

The doctor nodded, so Taboureau went on. 

“¢ Well, then, sir, two months ago a man from Saint Laurent 
came over here to find me. ‘ Taboureau,’ said he to me, 
‘could you sell me a hundred and thirty-seven measures of 
barley?’ ‘Why not?’ says I, ‘that is my trade. Do you 
want it immediately?’ ‘No,’ he says, ‘I want it for the 
beginning of spring, in March.’ So far, so good. Well, we 
drive our bargain, and we drink a glass, and we agree that he 
is to pay me the price that barley fetched at Grenoble last 
market-day, and I am to deliver it in March. Iam to ware- 
house it at owner’s risk, and no allowance for shrinkage, of 
course. But barley goes up and up, my dear sir; the barley 
rises like boiling milk. Then I am hard up for money, and 
Isell my barley. Quite natural, sir, was it not ?”’ 

‘ No,’’ said Benassis, ‘‘ the barley had passed out of your 
possession, and you were only warehousing it. And suppose 
the barley had gone down in value, would you not have com- 
pelled your buyer to take it at the price you agreed upon ?’’ 

«‘But very likely he would not have paid me, sir. One 
must look out for oneself! The seller ought to make a profit 
when the chance comes in his way; and, after all, the goods 
are not yours until you have paid for them. That is so, 
Monsieur |’ Officier, is it not? For you can see that the gen- 
tleman has been in the army.”’ 

‘« Taboureau,’’ Benassis said sternly, ‘‘ ill luck will come to 
you. Sooner or later God punishes ill deeds. How can you, 
knowing as much as you do, a capable man, moreover, and a 
man who conducts his business honorably, set examples of 
dishonesty to the canton? If you allow such proceedings as 
this to be taken against you, how can you expect that the poor 
will remain honest people and will not rob you? Your 
laborers will cheat you out of part of their working hours, 
and every one here will be demoralized. You are in the 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 71 


wrong. Your barley was as good as delivered. If the man 
from Saint Laurent had fetched it himself, you would not have 
gone there to take it away from him; you have sold some- 
thing that was no longer yours to sell, for your barley had 
already been turned into money which was to be paid down 
at the stipulated time. But go on.’’ 

Genestas gave the doctor a significant glance, to call his 
attention to Taboureau’s impassive countenance. Nota muscle 
had stirred in the usurer’s face during this reprimand ; there 
was no flush on his forehead, and no sign of emotion in his 
little eyes. 

‘Well, sir, I am called upon to supply the barley at last 
winter’s price. Now / consider that I am not bound to 
do so.”’ 

‘‘Look here, Taboureau, deliver that barley and be very 
quick about it, or make up your mind to be respected by no- 
body in future. Even if you gained the day in a case like 
this, you would be looked upon as an unscrupulous man who 
does not keep to his word, and is not bound by promises, or 
by honor, or = 

‘¢Go on, there is nothing to be afraid of; tell me that I 
am a scamp, a scoundrel, a thief outright. You can say 
things like that in business without insulting anybody, M. le 
Maire. ’Tis each for himself in business, you know,’’ coolly 
responded Taboureau. 

“¢ Well, then, why deliberately put yourself in a position in 
which you deserve to be called by such names? ”’ 

‘¢ But if the law is on my side, sir?”’ 

‘¢ But the law will certainly zo¢ be on your side.”’ 

“Are you quite sure about it, sir? Certain sure? For 
you see it is an important matter.’’ 

‘* Certainly Iam. Quite sure. If I were not at dinner, I 
would have down the code, and you should see for yourself. 
If the case comes on, you will lose it, and you will never set 
foot in my house again, for I do not wish to receive people 





72 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


whom I do not respect. Do you understand? You will 
lose your case.’’ 

‘*Oh! no, not at all, I shall not lose it, sir,’’ said Tabour- 
eau. ‘* You see, sir, it is this way: it is the man from Saint 
Laurent who owes me the barley; I bought it of him, and 
now he refuses to deliver it. I just wanted to make quite cer- 
tain that I should gain my case before going to any expense 
at the court about it.’’ 

Genestas and the doctor exchanged glances; each con- 
cealed his amazement at the ingenious device by which the 
man sought to learn the truth about this point of law. 

«¢ Very well, Taboureau, your man isa swindler ; you should 
not make bargains with such people.’’ 

‘‘ Ah! sir, they understand business, those people do.”’ 

*¢ Good-bye, Taboureau.’’ 

‘Your servant, gentlemen.”’ 

‘Well, now,’’ remarked Benassis, when the usurer had 
gone, ‘‘if that fellow were in Paris, do you not think that he 
would be a millionaire before very long? ’’ 

After dinner, the doctor and his visitor went back to the 
salon, and all the rest of the evening until bedtime they talked 
about war and politics; Genestas evincing a most violent dis- 
like of the English in the course of conversation. 

*¢ May I know whom I have the honor of entertaining as a 
guest ?’’ asked the doctor. 

“My name is Pierre Bluteau,’’ answered Genestas; ‘‘I am 
a captain stationed at Grenoble.”’ 

“Very well, sir. Do you care to adopt M. Gravier’s plan? 
In the morning after breakfast he liked to go on my rounds 
with me. Iam not at all sure that you will find anything to 
interest you in the things that occupy me—they are so very 
commonplace, For, after all, you own no land about here, 
nor are you the mayor of the place, and you will see noth- 
ing in the canton that you cannot see elsewhere; one 
thatched cottage is just like another. Still you will be in the 


? 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 73 


open air, and you will have something to take you out of 
doors.’’ 

‘“No proposal could give me more pleasure. I did not 
venture to make it myself, lest I should thrust myself upon 
you.”’ 

Commandant Genestas (who shall keep his own name in 
spite of the fictitious appellation which he had thought fit to 
give himself) followed his host to a room on the first floor 
above the salon. 

‘¢That is right,’’ said Benassis, ‘‘ Jacquotte has lighted a 
fire for you. If you want anything, there is a bell-pull close 
to the head of the bed.”’ 

**T am not likely to want anything, however small, it seems 
to me,’’ exclaimed Genestas. ‘‘ There is even a bootjack. 
Only an old trooper knows what a bootjack is worth ? There are 
times, when one is out on a campaign, sir, when one is ready 
to burn down a house to come by a knave of a bootjack. 
After a few marches, one on the top of another, or, above all, 
after an engagement, there are times when a swollen foot and 
the soaked leather will not part company, pull as you will; I 
have had to lie down in my boots more than once. One can 
put up with the annoyance so long as one is by oneself.’’ 

The commandant’s wink gave a kind of profound slyness to 
his last utterance ; then he began to make a survey. Not 
without surprise, he saw that the room was neatly kept, com- 
fortable, and almost luxurious. 

**What splendor,’’ was his comment. ‘‘ Your own room 
must be something wonderful.’’ 

“Come and see,’’ said the doctor. ‘‘ I am your neighbor, 
there is nothing but the staircase between us.”’ 

Genestas was again surprised when he entered the doctor’s 
room, a bare-looking apartment with no adornment on the 
walls save an old-fashioned wall paper of a yellowish tint with 
a pattern of brown roses over it ; the color had gone in patches 
here and there. There was a roughly-painted iron bedstead, 


74 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


two gray cotton curtains were suspended from a wooden bracket 
above it, and a threadbare strip of carpet lay at the foot; it 
was like a bed in a hospital. By the bed-head stood a rickety 
cupboard on four feet with a door that continually rattled with 
a sound like castanets. Three chairs and a couple of straw- 
bottomed armchairs stood about the room, and on a low chest 
of drawers in walnut wood stood a basin, and an ewer of obsolete 
pattern with a lid, which was kept in place by a leaden rim 
round the top of the vessel. This completed the list of the 
furniture. 

The grate was empty. All the apparatus required for shav- 
ing lay about in front of an old mirror suspended above the 
painted stone chimney-piece by a bit of string. The floor 
was clean and carefully swept, but it was worn and splintered 
in various places, and there were hollows in it here and there. 
Gray cotton curtains bordered with a green fringe adorned 
the two windows. The scrupulous cleanliness maintained by 
Jacquotte gave a certain air of distinction to this picture of 
simplicity, but everything in it, down to the round table 
littered with stray papers, and the very pens on the writing 
desk, gave the idea of an almost monastic life—a life so 
wholly filled with thought and feeling of a wider kind that 
outward surroundings had come to be matters of no moment. 
An open door allowed the commandant to see a smaller room, 
which doubtless the doctor seldom occupied. It was scarcely 
kept in the same condition as the adjoining apartment ; a few 
dusty books lay strewn about over the no less dusty shelves, 
and from the rows of labeled bottles it was easy to guess 
that the place was devoted rather to the dispensing of drugs 
than to scientific studies. 

‘Why this difference between your room and mine, you 
will ask?’’ said Benassis. ‘‘ Listen a moment. I have 
always blushed for those who put their guests in the attics, 
who furnish them with mirrors that distort everything to such 
a degree that any one beholding himself might think that he 


THE COUNTRYSIDE AND THE MAN. 7 


[aoa 


was smaller or larger than nature made him, or suffering from 
an apoplectic stroke or some other bad complaint. Ought 
we not to do our utmost to make a room as pleasant as pos- 
sible during the time that our friend can be with us? Hospi- 
tality, to my thinking, is a virtue, a pleasure, and a luxury ;. 
but in whatever light it is considered, nay, even if you 
regard it as a speculation, ought not our guest or our friend to 
be made much of? Ought not every refinement of luxury to 
be reserved for him? 

‘« So the best furniture is put into your room, where a thick 
carpet is laid down; there are hangings on the walls, and a 
clock and wax candles; and for you Jacquotte will do her 
best, she has no doubt brought a night-light, and a pair of 
new slippers and some milk, and her warming-pan too for 
your benefit. I hope that you will find that luxurious arm- 
chair the most comfortable seat you have ever sat in, it was a 
discovery of the late curé’s; I do not know where he found 
it, but it is a fact that if you wish to meet with the perfection 
of comfort, beauty, or convenience, you must ask counsel of 
the Church. Well, I hope that you will find everything in 
your room to your liking. You will find some good razors 
and excellent soap, and all the trifling details that make one’s 
own home so pleasant. And if my views on the subject of 
hospitality should not at once explain the difference between 
your room and mine, to-morrow, M. Bluteau, you will arrive 
at a wonderfully clear comprehension of the bareness of my 
room and the untidy condition of my study, when you see all 
the continual comings and goings here. Mine is not an 
indoor life, to begin with. I am almost always out of the 
house, and, if I stay at home, peasants come in at every 
moment to speak to me. My body and soul and house are all 
theirs. Why should I worry about social conventions in 
these matters, or trouble myself over the damage uninten- 
tionally done to floors and furniture by these worthy folk? 
Such things cannot be helped. Luxury properly belongs to 


76 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR, 


the boudoir and the guest-chamber, to great houses and cha- 
teaux. In short, as I scarcely do more than sleep here, what 
do I want with the superfluities of wealth? You do not 
know, moreover, how little I care for anything in this world.”’ 

They wished each other a friendly good-night with a warm 
shake of the hand, and went to bed. But before the com- 
mandant slept, he came to more than one conclusion as to 
the man who hour by hour grew greater in his eyes. 





TI, 
A DOCTOR’S ROUND. 


Tue first thing next morning Genestas went to the stable, 
drawn thither by the affection that every man feels for the 
horse that he rides. Nicolle’s method of rubbing down the 
animal was quite satisfactory. 

‘‘Up already, Commandant Bluteau?’’ cried Benassis, as 
he came upon his guest. ‘‘ You hear the drum beat in the 
morning wherever you go, even in this country! You area 
regular soldier !”’ 

‘¢Are you all right?’’ replied Genestas, holding out his 
hand with a friendly gesture. 

<¢T am never really all right, 
rily, half-sadly. 

“¢ Did you sleep well, sir?’’ inquired Jacquotte. 

‘Faith, yes, my beauty; the bed as you made it was fit for 
a queen,’’ 

Jacquotte’s face beamed as she followed her master and his 
guest, and when she had seen them seat themselves at table, 
she remarked to Nicolle— 

‘¢ He is not a bad sort, after all, that officer gentleman.” 

‘¢T am sure he is not, he has given me two francs already.”’ 

‘¢ We will begin to-day by calling at two places where there 
have been deaths,’’ Benassis said to his visitor as they left the 
dining-room. ‘‘ Although doctors seldom deign to confront 
their supposed victims, I will take you round to the two 
houses, where you will be able to make some interesting ob- 
servations of human nature; and the scenes to which you 
will be a witness will show you that in the expression of their 
feelings our folk among the hills differ greatly from the 
dwellers in the lowlands. Up among the mountain peaks in 

(77) 


”? 


answered Benassis, half-mer- 


78 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


our canton they cling to customs that bear the impress of an 
older time, and that vaguely recall scenes in the Bible. Na- 
ture has traced out a line over our mountain ranges; the 
whole appearance of the country is different on either side of 
it. You find strength of character up above, flexibility and 
quickness of perception below; they have larger ways of re- 
garding things among the hills, while the bent of the lowlands 
is always towards the material interests of existence. I have 
never seen a difference so strongly marked, unless it has been 
in the Val d’Ajou, where the northern side is peopled bya 
tribe of idiots, and the southern by an intelligent race. 
There is nothing but a stream in the valley bottom to separate 
these two populations, which are utterly dissimilar in every 
respect, as different in face and stature as in manners, customs 
and occupation. A fact of this kind should compel those who 
govern a country to make very extensive studies of local dif- 
ferences before passing laws that are to affect the great mass 
of the people. But the horses are ready, let us start!’ 

In a short time the two horsemen reached a house in a part 
of the township that was overlooked by the mountains of the 
Grande Chartreuse. Before the door of the dwelling, which 
was fairly clean and tidy, they saw a coffin, set upon two 
chairs, and covered with a black pall. Four tall candles 
stood about it, and on a stool near by there was a shallow 
brass dish full of holy water, in which a branch of green box- 
wood was steeping. Every passer-by went into the yard, 
knelt by the side of the dead, said a Paternoster, and sprinkled 
a few drops of holy water on the bier. Above the black cloth 
that covered the coffin rose the green sprays of a jessamine 
that grew beside the doorway, and a twisted vine-shoot, 
already in leaf, overran the lintel. Even the saddest ceremo- 
nies demand that things shall appear to the best advantage, 
and in obedience to this vaguely-felt requirement a young girl 
had been sweeping the front of the house. The dead man’s 
eldest son, a young peasant about twenty-two years of age, 


A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 79 


stood motionless, leaning against the door-post. The tears 
in his eyes came and went without falling, or perhaps he fur- 
tively brushed them away. Benassis and Genestas saw all the 
details of this scene as they stood beyond the low wall; they 
fastened their horses to one of the row of poplar trees that 
grew along it, and entered the yard just as the widow came 
out of the byre. A woman carrying a jug of milk was with 
her, and spoke. 

‘Try to bear up bravely, my poor Pelletier,’ she said. 

«« Ah! my dear, after twenty-five years of life together, it is 
very hard to lose your man,”’ and her eyes brimmed over with 
tears. ‘‘ Will you pay the two sous?’’ she added after a 
moment, as she held out her hand to her neighbor. 

‘There now! I had forgotten about it,’’ said the other 
woman, giving her the coin. ‘‘ Come, neighbor, don’t take 
onso. Ah! there is M. Benassis!’’ 

‘‘Well, poor mother, how are you going on? A little 
better ?’’ asked the doctor. 

‘‘Well!’’ she said, as the tears fell fast, ‘‘ we must go on, 
all the same, that is certain. I tell myself that my man is out 
of pain now. He suffered so terribly! But come inside, sir. 
Jacques, set some chairs for these gentlemen. Come, stir 
yourself a bit. Lord bless you! if you were to stop there for 
a century, it would not bring your poor father back again. 
And now, you will have to do the work of two.’’ 

‘‘No, no, good woman, leave your son alone, we will not 
sit down. You have a boy there who will take care of you, 
and who is quite fit to take his father’s place.”’ 

‘Go and change your clothes, Jacques,’’ cried the widow ; 
“<¢ you will be wanted directly.”’ 

“‘ Well, good-bye, mother,”’ 

“‘ Your servant, gentlemen.’’ 

‘¢ Here, you see, death is looked upon as an event for which 
every one is prepared,’’ said the doctor; ‘‘it brings no inter- 
ruption to the course of family life, and they will not even 


’ 


”? 


said Benassis. 


80 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


wear mourning of any kind. No one cares to be at the ex- 
pense of it ; they are all either too poor or too parsimonious 
in the villages hereabouts, so that mourning is unknown in 
country districts. Yet the custom of wearing mourning is 
something better than a law or a usage, it is an institution 
somewhat akin to all moral obligations. But in spite of our 
endeavors, neither M. Janvier nor I have succeeded in mak- 
ing our peasants understand the great importance of public 
demonstrations of feeling for the maintenance of social order. 
These good folk, who have only just begun to think and act 
for themselves, are slow as yet to grasp the changed condi- 
tions which should attach them to these theories. They have 
only reached those ideas which conduce to economy and 
physical welfare; in the future, if some one else carries on 
this work of mine, they will come to understand the principles 
that serve to uphold and preserve public order and justice. 
As a matter of fact, it is not sufficient to be an honest man, 
you must appear to be honest in the eyes of others. Society 
does not live by moral ideas alone; its existence depends 
upon actions in harmony with those ideas. 

“‘In most country communes, out of a hundred families 
deprived by death of their head, there are only a few indi- 
viduals capable of feeling more keenly than the others, who 
will remember the death for very long; in a year’s time the 
rest will have forgotten all about it. Is not this forgetfulness 
a sore evil? A religion is the very heart of a nation; it ex- 
presses their feelings and their thoughts, and exalts them by 
giving them an object; but unless outward and visible honor 
is paid to a God, religion cannot exist; and, as a conse- 
quence, human ordinances lose all their force. If the con- 
science belongs to God and to Him only, the body is amen- 
able to social law. Is it not, therefore, a first step towards 
atheism to efface every sign of pious sorrow in this way, to 
neglect to impress on children who are not yet old enough to 
reflect, and on all other people who stand in need of example, 


A DOCTORS ROUND. 81 


the necessity of obedience to human law, by openly manifested 
resignation to the will of Providence, who chastens and con- 
soles, who bestows and takes away worldly wealth? I confess 
that, after passing through a period of sneering incredulity, I 
have come during my life here to recognize the value of the 
rites of religion and of religious observances in the family, 
-and to discern the importance of household customs and 
domestic festivals. The family will always be the basis of 
human society. Law and authority are first felt there ; there, 
at any rate, the habit of obedience should be learned. Viewed 
in the light of all their consequences, the spirit of the family 
and paternal authority are two elements but little developed 
as yet in our new legislative system. Yet in the family, the 
commune, the department, lies the whole of our country. 
The laws ought therefore to be based on these three great 
divisions. 

‘In my opinion, marriages, the birth of infants, and the 
deaths of heads of households cannot be surrounded with too 
much circumstance. The secret of the strength of Cathol- 
icism, and of the deep root that it has taken in the ordinary 
life of man, les precisely in this—that it steps in to invest 
every important event in his existence with a pomp that is so 
naively touching, and so grand, whenever the priest rises to 
the height of his mission and brings his office into harmony 
with the sublimity of Christian doctrine. 

‘“Once I looked upon the Catholic religion as a cleverly 
exploited mass of prejudices and superstitions, which an 
intelligent civilization ought to deal with according to its 
deserts. Here I have discovered its political necessity and 
its usefulness as a moral agent; here, moreover, I have come 
to understand its power, through a knowledge of the actual 
thing which the word expresses. Religion means a bond or 
tie, and certainly a cult—or, in other words, the outward and 
visible form of religion is the only force that can bind the 
various elements of society together and mould them into a 

6 


82 MULE SO OUNER Ye" OCROR: 


permanent form. Lastly, it was also here that I have felt the 
soothing influence that religion sheds over the wounds of 
humanity, and (without going further into the subject) I have 
seen how admirably it is suited to the fervid temperaments of 
southern races. 

‘‘Let us take the road up the hillside,’’ said the doctor, 
interrupting himself; ‘we must reach the plateau up there. 
Thence we shall look down upon both valleys, and you will see 
a magnificent view. The plateau lies three thousand feet 
above the level of the Mediterranean; we shall see over 
Savoy and Dauphiné, and the mountain ranges of the Lyon- 
nais and Rhone. We shall be in another commune, a hill 
commune, and on a farm belonging to M. Gravier you will 
see the kind of scene of which I have spoken. There the 
great events of life are invested with a solemnity which comes 
up to my ideas. Mourning for the dead is rigorously pre- 
scribed. Poor people will beg in order to purchase black 
clothing, and no one refuses to give in such a case. There 
are few days in which the widow does not mention her loss ; 
she always speaks of it with tears, and her grief is as deep 
after ten days of sorrow as on the morning after her bereave- 
ment. Manners are patriarchal; the father’s authority is 
unlimited, his word is law. He takes his meals sitting by 
himself at the head of the table; his wife and children wait 
upon him, and those about him never address him without 
using certain respectful forms of speech, while every one 
remains standing and uncovered in his presence. Men 
brought up in this atmosphere are conscious of their dignity ; 
to my way of thinking, it is a noble education to be brought 
up among these customs. And, for the most part, they are 
upright, thrifty, and hard-working people in this commune. 
The father of every family, when he is old and past work, 
divides his property equally among his children, and they 
support him; that is the usual way here. An old man of 
ninety, in the last century, who had divided everything he 


A DOCTOR’S ROUND. 3 


had among his four children, went to live with each one in 
turn for three months in the year. As he left the oldest to go 
to the home of a younger brother, one of his friends asked 
him, ‘ Well, are you satisfied with the arrangement?’ ‘Faith! 
yes,’ the old man answered ; ‘ they have treated meas if I had 
been their own child.’ That answer of his seemed so remark- 
able to an officer then stationed at Grenoble, that he repeated 
it in more than one Parisian salon. That officer was the 
celebrated moralist Vauvenargues, and in this way the beauti- 
ful saying came to the knowledge of another writer named 
Chamfort. Ah! still more forcible phrases are often struck 
out among us, but they lack a historian worthy of them,’’ con- 
cluded Benassis. 

‘‘] have come across Moravians and Lollards in Bohemia 
and Hungary,’’ said Genestas. ‘‘ They are a kind of people 
something like your mountaineers, good folk who endure the 
sufferings of war with angelic patience.” 

“‘Men living under simple and natural conditions are 
bound to be almost alike in all countries. Sincerity of life 
takes but one form. It is true that a country life often 
extinguishes thought of a wider kind; but evil propensities 
are weakened and good qualities are developed by it. In 
fact, the fewer the numbers of the human beings collected 
together in a place, the less crime, evil thinking, and general 
bad behavior will be found in it. A pure atmosphere counts 
for a good deal in purity of morals.”’ 

The two horsemen, who had been climbing the stony road 
at a foot pace, now reached the level space of which Benassis 
had spoken. It is a strip of land lying round about the base 
of a lofty mountain peak, a bare surface of rock with no 
growth of any kind upon it ; deep clefts are riven in its sheer 
inaccessible sides. ‘The gray crest of the summit towers above 
the ledge of fertile soil which lies around it, a domain some- 
times narrower, sometimes wider, and altogether about a 
hundred acres in extent. Here, through a vast break in the 


84 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


line of the hills to the south, the eye sees French Maurienne, 
Dauphiné, the crags of Savoy, and the far-off mountains of 
the Lyonnais. Genestas was gazing from this point, over a 
land that lay far and wide in the spring sunlight, when there 
arose the sound of a wailing cry. 

“‘Let us go on,’’ said Benassis ; ‘‘ the wail of the dead has 
begun, that is the name they give to this part of the funeral 
rites.” 

On the western slope of the mountain peak, the commandant 
saw the buildings belonging to a farm of some size. The 
whole place formed a perfect square. The gateway consisted 
of a granite arch, impressive in its solidity, which added to 
the old-world appearance of the buildings with the ancient 
trees that stood about them, and the growth of plant life on 
the roofs. The house itself lay at the farther end of the yard. 
Barns, sheepfolds, stables, cowsheds, and other buildings lay 
on either side, and in the midst was the great pool where the 
manure had been laid to rot. Ona thriving farm, sucha yard 
as this is usually full of life and movement, but to-day it was 
silent and deserted. The poultry were shut up, the cattle 
were all in the byres, there was scarcely a sound of animal life. 
Both stables and cowsheds had been carefully locked, and a 
clean path to the house had been swept across the yard. The 
perfect neatness which reigned in a place where everything as 
a rule was in disorder, the absence of stirring life, the still- 
ness in so noisy a spot, the calm serenity of the hills, the deep 
shadow cast by the towering peak—everything combined to 
make a strong impression on the mind. 

Genestas was accustomed to painful scenes, yet he could not 
help shuddering as he saw a dozen men and women standing 
weeping outside the door of the great hall. ‘‘Zhe master ts 
dead /’’ they wailed; the unison of voices gave appalling 
effect to the words which they repeated twice during the time 
required to cross the space between the gateway and the farm- 
house door. To this wailing lament succeeded moans from 


A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 85 


within the house ; the sound of a woman’s voice came through 
the casements. 

“7 dare not intrude upon such grief as this,’’ said Genestas 
to Benassis. 

‘‘T always go to visit a bereaved family,’’ the doctor 
answered, ‘‘ either to certify the death, or to see that no mis- 
chance caused by grief has befallen the living. You need not 
hesitate tocome with me. Thescene is impressive, and there 
will be such a great many people that no one will notice your 
presence.” 

As Genestas followed the doctor, he found, in fact, that the 
first room was full of relations of the dead. They passed 
through the crowd and stationed themselves at the door of a 
bedroom that opened out of the great hall which served the 
whole family for a kitchen and a sitting-room; the whole 
colony, it should rather be called, for the great length of the 
table showed that some forty people lived in the house. Be- 
nassis’ arrival interrupted the discourse of a tall, simply-dressed 
woman, with thin locks of hair, who held the dead man’s 
hand in hers in a way that spoke eloquently. 

The dead master of the house had been arrayed in his best 
clothes, and now lay stretched out cold and stiff upon the bed. 
They had drawn the curtains aside; the thought of heaven 
seemed to brood over the quiet face and the white hair—it 
was like the closing scene of a drama. On either side of the 
bed stood the children and the nearest relations of the husband 
and wife. These last stood in a line on either side ; the wife’s 
kin upon the left, and those of her husband on the right. 
Both men and women were kneeling in prayer, and almost all 
of them were intears. Tall candles stood about the bed. The 
curé of the parish and his assistants had taken their places in 
the middle of the room, beside the bier. There was some- 
thing tragical about the scene, with the head of the family 
lying before the coffin, which was waiting to be closed down 
upon him for ever. 


86 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


** Ah!” cried the widow, turning as she saw Benassis, “if 
the skill of the best of men could not save you, my dear lord, 
it was because it was ordained in heaven that you should pre- 
cede me to the tomb! Yes, this hand of yours, that used to 
press mine so kindly, is cold! I have lost my dear helpmate 
forever, and our household has lost its beloved head, for truly 
you were the guide of us all! Alas! there is not one of those 
who is weeping with me who has not known all the worth 
of your nature, and felt the light of your soul, but I alone 
knew all the patience and the kindness of your heart. Oh! 
my husband, my husband! must I bid you farewell for ever ? 
Farewell to you, our stay and support! Farewell to you, 
my dear master! And we, your children, for to each of us 
you gave the same fatherly love, all we, your children, have 
lost our father !’’ 

The widow flung herself upon the dead body and clasped it 
in a tight embrace, as if her kisses and the tears with which 
she covered it could give it warmth again; during the pause, 
came the wail of the servants— 

“¢ The master ts dead !”” 

**Ves,’’ the widow went on, ‘‘he is dead! Our beloved who 
gave us our bread, who sowed and reaped for us, who watched 
over our happiness, who guided us through life, who ruled so 
kindly among us. ow I may speak in his praise, and say 
that he never caused me the slightest sorrow; he was good 
and strong and patient. Even while we were torturing him 
for the sake of his health, so precious to us, ‘ Let it be, chil- 
dren, it is all no use,’ the dear lamb said, just in the same 
tone of voice with which he had said, ‘ Everything is all right, 
friends,’ only a few days before. Ah! grand Dieu! a few 
days ago! A few days have been enough to take away the 
gladness from our house and to darken our lives, to close the 
eyes of the best, most upright, most revered of men. Noone 
could plough as he could. Night or day he would go about 
over the mountains, he feared nothing, and when he came 


A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 87 


back he had always a smile for his wife and children. Ah! 
he was our best beloved! It was dull here by the fireside 
when fe was away, and our food lost all its relish. Oh! how 
will it be now, when our guardian angel will be laid away 
under the earth, and we shall never see him any more? Never 
any more, dear kinsfolk and friends; never any more, my 
children! Yes, my children have lost their kind father, our 
relations and friends have lost their good kinsman and their 
trusty friend, the household has lost its master, and I have lost 
everything that made life sweet to me—a kind husband, com- 
panion and helpmate!”’ 

She took the hand of the dead again, and knelt, so that she 
might press her face close to his as she kissed it. The ser- 
vants’ cry, ‘‘ Zhe master ts dead /’ was again repeated three 
times. 

Just then the eldest son came to his mother to say, ‘‘ The 
people from Saint Laurent have just come, mother; we want 
some wine for them.”’ 

‘¢ Take the keys,’’ she said in a low tone, and in a different 
voice from that in which she had just expressed her grief; 
‘you are the master of the house, my son; see that they re- 
ceive the welcome that your father would have given them ; do 
not let them find any change.’’ 

“‘Let me have one more long look,’’ she went on. ‘‘ But, 
alas! my good husband, you do not feel my presence now, I 
cannot bring back warmth to you! I only wish that I could 
comfort you still, and let you know that so long as I live you 
will dwell in the heart that you made glad, could tell you 
that I shall be happy in the memory of my happiness—that 
the dear thought of you will live on in this room. Yes, so 
long as God spares me, this room shall be filled with memories 
of you. Hear my vow, dear husband! Your couch shall 
always remain as it is now. I will sleep in it no more, since 
you are dead ; henceforward, while I live, it shall be cold and 
empty. With you, I have lost all that makes a woman; her 


7 


88 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


master, husband, father, friend, companion, and helpmate; I 
have lost all !’’ 

‘“¢ The master ts dead /”’ the servants wailed. Others raised 
the cry, and the lament became general. The widow took a 
pair of scissors that hung at her waist, cut off her hair, and 
laid the locks in her husband’s hand. Deep silence fell on 
them all. 

“That act means that she will not marry again,” said 
Benassis ; ‘‘ this determination was expected by many of the 
relatives.’’ 

‘‘Take it, dear lord!’’ she said; her emotion brought a 
tremor to her voice that went to the hearts of all who heard 
her. ‘‘I have sworn to be faithful ; I give this pledge to you 
to keep in the grave. We shall thus be united for ever, and 
through love of your children I will live on among the family 
in whom you used to feel yourself young again. Oh! that 
you could hear me, my husband! the pride and joy of my 
heart! Oh, that you could know that all my power to live, 
now you are dead, will yet come from you ; for I shall live to 
carry out your sacred wishes and to honor your memory.”’ 

Benassis pressed Genestas’ hand as an invitation to follow 
him, and they went out. By this time the first room was full 
of people who had come from another mountain commune}; 
all of them waited in meditative silence, as if the sorrow and 
grief that brooded over the house had already taken possession 
of them. As Benassis and the commandant crossed the 
threshold, they overheard a few words that passed between 
one of the newcomers and the eldest son of the late owner. 

“¢ Then when did he die?”’ 

““Oh!’’ exclaimed the eldest son, a man of five-and- 
twenty years of age, ‘‘I did not see him die. He asked for 
me, and I was not there!’’ His voice was broken with sobs, 
but he went on: ‘‘ He said to me the night before, ‘ You must 


go over to the town, my boy, and pay our taxes; my funeral 
will put that out of your minds, and we shall be behindhand, 


A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 89 


a thing that has never happened before.’ It seemed the best 
thing to do, so I went ; and while I was gone he died, and I 
never received his last embrace. I have always been at his 
side, but he did not see me near him at the last in my place 
where I had always been.’”’ 

“The master ts dead !”’ 

‘¢ Alas! he is dead, and I was not there to receive his last 
words and his latest sigh. And what did the taxes matter? 
Would it not have been better to lose all our money than to 
leave home just then? Could all that we have make up to 
me for the loss of his last farewell? No. Mon Diew! If 
your father falls ill, Jean, do not go away and leave him, or 
you will lay up a lifelong regret for yourself.”’ 

‘¢ My friend,’’ said Genestas, ‘‘I have seen thousands of 
men die on the battlefield; death did not wait to let their 
children bid them farewell; take comfort, you are not the 
only one.”’ 

‘‘But a father who was such a good man!”’ he replied, 
bursting into fresh tears. 

Benassis took Genestas in the direction of the farm 
buildings. 

‘¢The funeral oration will only cease when the body has 
been laid in its coffin,’’ said the doctor, ‘‘ and the weeping 
woman’s language will grow more vivid and impassioned all 
the while. But a woman only acquires the right to speak in 
such a strain before so imposing an audience by a blameless 
life. If the widow could reproach herself with the smallest 
of shortcomings, she would not dare to utter a word ; for if 
she did, she would pronounce her own condemnation, she 
would be at the same time her own accuser and judge. Is 
there not something sublime in this custom which thus judges 
the living and the dead? ‘They only begin to wear mourning 
after a week has elapsed, when it is publicly worn at a meet- 
ing of all the family. Their near relations spend the week 
with the widow and children, to help them to set their affairs 


90 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


in order and to console them. A family gathering at sucha 
time produces a great effect on the minds of the mourners ; 
the consideration for others which possesses men when they 
are brought into close contact acts as a restraint on violent 
grief. On the last day, when the mourning garb has been 
assumed, a solemn banquet is given, and their relations take 
leave of them. All this is taken very seriously. Any one 
who was slack in fulfilling his duties after the death of the 
head of a family would have no one at his own funeral.”’ 

The doctor had reached the cowhouse as he spoke; he 
opened the door and made the commandant enter, that he 
might show it to him. 

‘* All our cowhouses have been rebuilt after this pattern, 
captain. Look! Is it not magnificent ?”’ 

Genestas could not help admiring the huge place. The 
cows and oxen stood in two rows, with their tails towards the 
side walls and their heads in the middle of the shed. Access 
to the stalls was afforded by a fairly wide space between them 
and the wall; you could see their horned heads and shining 
eyes through the lattice work, so that it was easy for the mas- 
ter to run his eyes over the cattle. The fodder was placed 
on some staging erected above the stalls, so that it fell into 
the racks below without waste of labor or material. There 
was a wide-paved space down the centre, which was kept 
clean, and ventilated by a thorough draught of air. 

“‘In the winter-time,’’ Benassis said, as he walked with 
Genestas down the middle of the cowhouse, ‘‘ both men and 
women do their work here together in the evenings. The 
tables are set out here, and in this way the people keep them- 
selves warm without going to any expense. ‘The sheep are 
housed in the same way. You would not believe how quickly 
the beasts fall into orderly ways. I have often wondered to 
see them come in; each knows her proper place, and allows 
those who take precedence to pass in before her. Look! 
there is just room enough in each stall to do the milking and 


A DOCTORS ROUND. 91 


to rub the cattle down; and the floor slopes a little to facili- 
tate drainage.”’ 

«©One can judge of everything else from the sight of this 
cowhouse,’’ said Genestas; ‘‘ without flattery, these are great 
results indeed ! ”’ 

«« We have had some trouble to bring them about,’’ Benas- 
sis answered ; ‘‘ but then, see what fine cattle they are!’’ 

‘* They are splendid beasts certainly ; you had good reason 
to praise them to me,’’ answered Genestas. 

‘‘Now,’’ said the doctor, when he had mounted his horse 
and passed under the gateway, ‘“‘we are going over some of 
the newly-cleared waste, and through the corn land. I have 
christened this little corner of our commune, ‘ La Beauce.’”’ 

For about an hour they rode at a foot pace across fields in 
a state of high cultivation, on which the soldier complimented 
the doctor ; then they came down the mountain side into the 
township again, talking whenever the pace of their horses 
allowed them to do so. At last they reached a narrow glen, 
down which they rode into the main valley. 

«‘T promised yesterday,’’ Benassis said to Genestas, “‘ to 
show you one of the two soldiers who left the army and came 
back to us after the fall of Napoleon. We shall find him 
somewhere hereabouts, if Iam not mistaken, The mountain 
streams flow into a sort of natural reservoir or tarn up here ; 
the earth they bring down has silted it up, and he is engaged 
in clearing it out. But if you are to take any interest in the 
man, I must tell you his history. His name is Gondrin. He 
was only eighteen years old when he was drawn in the great 
conscription of 1792, and drafted into a corps of gunners. 
He served as a private soldier in Napoleon’s campaigns in 
Italy, followed him to Egypt, and came back from the East 
after the Peace of Amiens. In the time of the empire he was 
incorporated in the pontoon troop of the Guard, and was 
constantly on active service in Germany, lastly the poor 
fellow made the Russian campaign.” 


92 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


‘“We are brothers-in-arms then, to some extent,’’ said 
Genestas ; ‘‘I have made the same campaigns. Only an iron 
frame could stand the tricks played by so many different 
climates. My word for it, those who are still standing on 
their stumps after marching over Italy, Egypt, Germany, 
Portugal, and Russia must have applied to Providence and 
taken out a patent for living.’’ 

“¢ Just so, you will see a solid fragment of a man,’’ answered 
Benassis. ‘* You know all about the retreat from Moscow; 
it is useless to tell you about it. This man I have told you of 
is one of the pontooneers of the Beresina; he helped to con- 
struct the bridge by which the army made the passage, and 
stood waist-deep in water to drive in the first piles. General 
Eblé, who was in command of the pontooneers, could only 
find forty-two men who were plucky enough, in Gondrin’s 
phrase, to tackle that business. The general himself came 
down to the stream to hearten and cheer the men, promising 
each of them a pension of a thousand francs and the Cross 
of the Legion of Honor. The first who went down into the 
Beresina had his leg taken off by a block of ice, and the man 
himself was washed away; but you will better understand the 
difficulty of the task when you hear the end of the story. Of 
the forty-two volunteers, Gondrin is the only one alive to- 
day. ‘Thirty-nine of them lost their lives in the Beresina, 
and the two others died miserably in a Polish hospital. 

““The poor fellow himself only returned from Wilna in 
1814, to find the Bourbons restored to power. General 
Eblé (of whom Gondrin cannot speak without tears in his 
eyes) was dead. The pontooneer was deaf, and his health 
was shattered; and as he could neither read nor write, he 
found no one left to help him or to plead his cause. He 
begged his way to Paris, and while there made application at 
the War Office, not for the thousand francs of extra pension 
which had been promised to him, nor yet for the ‘ Cross of 
the Legion of Honor,’ but only for the bare pension due to 


A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 93 


him after twenty-two years of service, and I do not know 
how many campaigns. He did not obtain his pension or his 
traveling expenses; he did not even receive his arrears of 
pay. Hespent a year in making fruitless solicitations, hold- 
ing out his hands in vain to those whom he had saved; and 
at the end of it he came back here, sorely disheartened but 
resigned to his fate. This hero unknown to fame does drain- 
ing work on the land, for which he is paid ten sous the 
fathom. He is accustomed to working in a marshy soil, and 
so, as he says, he gets jobs which no one else cares to take. 
He can make about three francs a day by clearing out ponds, 
or draining meadows that lie under water. His deafness 
makes him seem surly, and he is not naturally inclined to say 
very much, but there is a good deal in him. 

‘We are very good friends. He dines with me on the 
day of Austerlitz, on the Emperor’s birthday, and on the 
anniversary of the disaster at Waterloo, and during the dessert 
he always receives a napoleon to pay for his wine every 
quarter. Every one in the commune shares in my feeling 
of respect for him; if he would allow them to support 
him, nothing would please them better. At every house to 
which he goes the people follow my example, and show their 
esteem by asking him to dine with them, It isa feeling of 
pride that leads him to work, and it is only as a portrait of 
the Emperor that he can be induced to take my twenty-franc 
piece. He has been deeply wounded by the injustice that 
has been done him; but I think regret for the ‘Cross’ is 
greater than the desire for his pension. 

‘He has one great consolation. After the bridges had 
been constructed across the Beresina, General Eblé presented 
such of the pontooneers as were not disabled tothe Emperor, and 
Napoleon embraced poor Gondrin—perhaps but for that em- 
brace he would have died ere now. This memory and the hope 
that some day Napoleon will return are all that Gondrin lives 
by. Nothing will ever persuade him that Napoleon is dead, 


94 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


and so convinced is he that the Emperor’s captivity is wholly 
and solely due to the English, that I believe he would be 
ready on the slightest pretext to take the life of the best- 
natured alderman that ever traveled for pleasure in foreign 
parts.”’ 

“Let us go on as fast as possible,’’ cried Genestas. He had 
listened to the doctor’s story with rapt attention, and now 
seemed to recover consciousness of his surroundings. ‘‘ Let 
us hurry! I long to see that man !’’ 

Both of them put their horses to a gallop. 

‘«'The other soldier that I spoke of,’’ Benassis went on, ‘‘ is 
another of those men of iron who have knocked about every- 
where with ourarmies. His life, like that of all French soldiers, 
has been made up of bullets, sabre strokes, and victories; he 
has had a very rough time of it, and has only worn the woolen 
epaulettes. He has a fanatical affection for Napoleon, who 
conferred the ‘Cross’ upon him on the field of Valontina. 
He is of a jovial turn of mind, and like a genuine Dauphi- 
nois, has always looked after his own interests, has his pension, 
and the honors of the Legion. Goguelat is his name. He 
was an infantry man, who exchanged into the Guard in 1812 
He is Gondrin’s better half, so to speak, for the two have 
taken up house together. ‘They both lodge with a peddler’s 
widow, and make over their money to her. She is a kind 
soul, who boards them and looks after them and their clothes 
as if they were her children. 

“‘In his quality of local postman, Goguelat carries all the 
news of the countryside, and a good deal of practice acquired 
in this way has made him an orator in great request at up- 
sittings, and the champion teller of stories in the district. 
Gondrin looks upon him as a very knowing fellow, and some- 
thing of awit; and whenever Goguelat talks about Napoleon, 
his comrade seems to understand what he is saying from the 
movement of his lips. There will be an up-sitting (as they 
call it) in one of my barns to-night. If these two come over 


A DOCTORS ROUND. 95 


to it, and we can manage to see without being seen, I shall 
treat you to a view of the spectacle. But here we are, close 
to the ditch, and I do not see my friend the pontooneer.”’ 

The doctor and the commandant looked everywhere about 
them; Gondrin’s soldier’s coat lay there beside a heap of 
black mud, and his wheelbarrow, spade, and pickaxe were 
visible, but there was no sign of the man himself along the 
various pebbly watercourses, for the wayward mountain streams 
had hollowed out channels that were almost overgrown with 
low bushes. 

‘He cannot be so very far away. Gondrin! Where are 
you?’’ shouted Benassis. 

Genestas first saw the curling smoke from a tobacco pipe 
rise among the brushwood on a bank of rubbish not far away. 
He pointed it out to the doctor, who shouted again. The old 
pontooneer raised his head at this, recognized the mayor, and 
came towards them down a little pathway. 

** Well, old friend,’’ said Benassis, making a sort of speak- 
ing-trumpet with his hand. ‘‘ Here is a comrade of yours, 
who was out in Egypt, come to see you.”’ 

Gondrin raised his face at once and gave Genestas a swift, 
keen, and searching look, one of those glances by which old 
soldiers are wont at once to take the measure of any impend- 
ing danger. He saw the red ribbon that the commandant 
wore, and made a silent and respectful military salute. 

‘If the little corporal were alive,’’ the officer cried, ‘‘ you 
would have the Cross of the Legion of Honor and a handsome 
pension besides, for every man who wore epaulettes on the 
other side of the river owed his life to you on the rst of Oc- 
tober, 1812. But Iam not the minister of war, my friend,”’ 
the commandant added as he dismounted, and with a sudden 
rush of feeling he grasped the laborer’s hand. 

The old pontooneer drew himself up at the words, he 
knocked the ashes from his pipe, and put it in his pocket. 

**T anly did my duty, sir,’’ he said, with his head bent 


96 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


down ; ‘‘but others have not done their duty by me. They 
asked for my papers! Why, the Twenty-ninth Bulletin, I 
told them, must do instead of my papers !’”’ 

“‘ But you must make another application, comrade. You 
are bound to have justice done you in these days, if influence 
is brought to bear in the right quarter.’’ 

‘¢ Justice !’’ cried the veteran. The doctor and the com- 
mandant shuddered at the tone in which he spoke. 

In the brief pause that followed, both the horsemen looked 
at the man before them, who seemed like a fragment of the 
wreck of great armies which Napoleon had filled with men of 
bronze sought out from among three generations. Gondrin 
was certainly a splendid specimen of that seemingly indestruc- 
tible mass of men which might be cut to pieces but never gave 
way. The old man was scarcely five feet high, wide across 
the shoulders, and broad-chested ; his face was sun-burned, 
furrowed with deep wrinkles, but the outlines were still firm 
in spite of the hollows in it, and one could see even now that 
it was the face of a soldier. It wasarough-hewn countenance; 
his forehead seemed like a block of granite; but there was a 
weary expression about his face, and the gray hairs hung scan- 
tily about his head, as if life were waning there already. 
Everything about him indicated unusual strength; his arms 
were covered thickly with hair, and so was the chest, which 
was visible through the opening of his coarse shirt. In spite 
of his almost crooked legs, he held himself firm and erect, as 
if nothing could shake him. 

*« Justice,’’ he said once more ; ‘‘ there never will be justice 
for the like of us. We cannot send bailiffs to the government 
to demand our dues for us; and as the wallet must be filled 
somehow,”’ he said, striking his stomach, we cannot afford to 
wait. Moreover, these gentry who lead snug lives in govern- 
ment offices may talk and talk, but their words are not good 
to eat, so I have come back again here to draw my pay out of 
the commonalty,’’ he said, striking the mud with his spade. 


A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 97 


‘‘Things must not be left in that way, old comrade,”’ said 
Genestas. ‘‘I owe my life to you, and it would be ungrateful 
of me if I did not lend youa hand. I have not forgotten the 
passage over the bridges in the Beresina, and it is fresh in the 
memories of some brave fellows of my acquaintance; they 
will back me up, and the nation shall give you the recognition 
you deserve.”’ 

«© You will be called a Bonapartist! Please do not meddle 
in the matter, sir. I have gone to the rear now, and I have 
dropped into my hole here like a spent bullet. But after 
riding on camels through the desert, and drinking my glass by 
the fireside in Moscow, I never thought that I should come 
back to die here beneath the trees that my father planted,”’ 
and he began to work again. 

‘Poor old man!’’ said Genestas, as they turned to go. 
“‘T should do the same if I were in his place; we have lost our 
father. Everything seems dark to me now that I have seen 
that man’s hopelessness,’’ he went on, addressing Benassis ; 
<<he does not know how much I am interested in him, and he 
will think that Iam one of those gilded rascals who cannot 
feel for a soldier’s sufferings.” 

He turned quickly and went back, grasped the veteran’s 
hand, and spoke loudly in his ear— 

««T swear by the cross I wear—the cross of honor it used to 
be—that I will do all that man can do to obtain your pension 
for you; even if I have to swallow a dozen refusals from the 
minister, and to petition the King and the Dauphin and the 
whole shop! ”’ 

Old Gondrin quivered as he heard the words. He looked 
hard at Genestas and said, ‘‘Haven’t you served in the 
ranks?’’ The commandant nodded. The pontooneer wiped 
his hand and took that of Genestas, which he grasped warmly 
and said— 

“¢T made the army a present of my life, general, when I 


waded out into the river yonder, and if I am still alive, it is 
u 


98 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


all so much to the good. One moment! Do you care to see 
to the bottom of it? Well, then, ever since somebody was 
pulled down from his place, I have ceased to care about any- 
thing. And, after all,’? he went on more cheerfully, as he 
pointed to the land, ‘‘ they have made over twenty thousand 
francs to me here, and I am taking it out in detail, as 4e used 
to say!’’ 

“‘Well, then, comrade,’’ said Genestas, touched by the 
grandeur of this forgiveness,’’ at least you shall have the only 
thing that you cannot prevent me from giving to you, here 
below.’’ The commandant tapped his heart, looked once 
more at the old pontooneer, mounted his horse again, and 
went his way side by side with Benassis, deeply impressed 
with the injustice done to his old comrade. 

*« Such cruelty as this on the part of a government foments 
the strife between rich and poor,’’ said the doctor. ‘‘ People 
who exercise a little brief authority have never given a serious 
thought to the consequences that must follow an act of 
injustice done to a man of the people. It is true that a poor 
man who needs must work for his daily bread cannot long 
keep up the struggle ; but he can talk, and his words find an 
echo in every sufferer’s heart, so that one bad case of this 
kind is multiplied, for every one who hears of it feels it as a 
personal wrong, and the leaven works. Even this is not so 
serious, but something far worse comes of it. Among the 
people, these cases of injustice bring about a chronic state of 
smothered hatred for their social superiors. The middle class 
becomes the poor man’s enemy ; they lie without the bounds 
of his moral code, he tells lies to them and robs them without 
scruple ; indeed, theft ceases to be a crime or a misdemeanor, 
and is looked upon as an act of vengeance. 

‘‘When an official, who ought to see that the poor have 
justice done them, uses them ill and cheats them of their due, 
how can we expect the poor starving wretches to bear their 
troubles meekly and to respect the rights of property? It 


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Perhows wilking Mag We Send Gini 
Q 1d Nis opal bod borg ‘ateparient 
| asain tie fe thove! 
7 Bay. Dave aden M Veieewe GM oe rielgaed “fo hia, Wir 1) 
, ¥h Siaee How youl oft dliest co at en ole ajsseuiture: 
whi Mambinitting 16 the que top The maa gle 





Ford, fh crenjany mith ar agen dian) Fleacen.. 
We Ort) Seat) Sex, om) Hil palit. 
Along. Sit wie we > ee eee. 7? © ors! . jae ‘OT zal Hi 
ANG Gsorh) wallet fey wee ei Serene wolk |; 
| : ju the tnntcen of tbe bea) ihs2'* Bo idles Bintkenudwhh | 
mde sweat of tail; varied indiiiy togethers while. 
~. end of (he wallet Rabie tie ahowlder Neld bye - 
jWislriate. md @ few freeh enon, File logy iene! 
‘Warped, & were; Ne lackh wey bon Soe | hei 
! BOOB we couch os the walks! ol he eee on Le 
ji {6 steady fine !/ Wien * |: » fal weeny! \okd 1 
~ battered: Rae, grows rusty te ci AD ete | 
eeMeeed fee ee) hm AM kw 
Cree isco, ws Ae aE yoreh b 
anass.OF patch. it wader Te ely 2. en myer | 





v OLD LABORER MAKING HIS WAY ALONG THE ROAD IN 
ee looked SRMPANY HUTHIAMPACED WOMAN: . 





A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 99 


makes me shudder to think that some understrapper, whose 
business it is to dust papers in a government office, has 
pocketed Gondrin’s promised thousand francs of pension. 
And yet there are folk who, never having measured the excess 
of the people’s sufferings, accuse the people of excess in the 
day of their vengeance! When a government has done more 
harm than good to individuals, its further existence depends 
on the merest accident, the masses square the account after 
their fashion by upsetting it. A statesman ought always to 
imagine Justice with the poor at her feet, for justice was only 
invented for the poor.”’ 

When they had come within the compass of the township 
Benassis saw two persons walking along the road in front of 
them, and turned to his companion, who had been absorbed 
for some time in thought. 

“‘VYou have seen a veteran soldier resigned to his life of 
wretchedness, and now you are about to see an old agricultural 
laborer who is submitting to the same lot. The man there 
ahead of us has dug and sown and toiled for others all his life.”’ 

Genestas looked and saw an old laborer making his way 
along the road, in company with an aged woman. He seemed 
to be afflicted with some form of sciatica, and limped painfully 
along. His feet were encased in a wretched pair of sabots, 
and a sort of wallet hung over his shoulder. Several tools lay 
in the bottom of the bag; their handles, blackened with long 
use and the sweat of toil, rattled audibly together ; while the 
other end of the wallet behind his shoulder held bread, some 
walnuts, and a few fresh onions. His legs seemed to be 
warped, as it were; his back was bent by continual toil; he 
stooped so much as he walked that he leaned on a long stick 
to steady himself. His snow-white hair escaped from under a 
battered hat, grown rusty by exposure to all sorts of weather, 
and mended here and there with visible stitches of white 
thread. His clothes, made of a kind of rough canvas, were a 
mass of patches of contrasting colors. This piece of humanity 


100 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


in ruins lacked none of the characteristics that appeal to our 
hearts when we see ruins of other kinds. 

His wife held herself somewhat more erect. Her clothing 
was likewise a mass of rags, and the cap that she wore was of 
the coarsest materials. On her back she carried a rough 
earthen jar by means of a thong passed through the handles 
of the great pitcher, which was round in shape and flattened 
at the sides. They both looked up when they heard the 
horses approaching, saw that it was Benassis, and stopped. 

The man had worked till he was almost past work, and his 
faithful helpmate was no less broken with toil. It was pain- 
ful to see how the summer’s sun and the winter’s cold had 
blackened their faces and covered them with such deep 
wrinkles that their features were hardly discernible. It was 
not their life history that had been engraven on their faces ; 
but it might be gathered from their attitude and bearing. 
Incessant toil had been the lot of both; they had worked and 
suffered together; they had had many troubles and few joys 
to share; and now, like captives grown accustomed to their 
prison, they seemed to be too familiar with wretchedness to 
heed it, and to take everything as it came. Yet a certain 
frank light-heartedness was not lacking in their faces; and on 
a closer view their monotonous life, the lot of so many a poor 
creature, wellnigh seemed an enviable one. ‘Trouble had set 
its unmistakable mark upon them, but petty cares had left no 
traces there. 

«Well, my good Father Moreau, I suppose there is no help 
for it, and you must always be working ?”’ 

‘Ves, M. Benassis, there are one or two more bits of waste 
that I mean to clear for you before I knock off work,’’ the old 
man answered cheerfully, and a light shone in his little black 
eyes. 

‘Ts that wine that your wife there is carrying? If you will 
not take a rest now, you ought at any rate to take wine.”’ 

“I take a rest? I should not know what to do with my- 


A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 101 


self. The sun and the fresh air put life into me when I am 
out of doors and busy grubbing up the land. As to the wine, 
sir, yes, that is wine sure enough, and it is all through your 
contriving I know that the Mayor at Courteil lets us have it 
for next to nothing. Ah, you managed it very cleverly, but, 
all the same, I know you had a hand in it.”’ 

“*Oh! come, come! Good-day, mother. You are going 
to work on that bit of land of Champferlu’s to-day of course ?’’ 

<‘ Yes, sir; I made a beginning there yesterday evening.”’ 

‘‘Capital!’’ said Benassis. ‘‘ It must be a satisfaction to 
you, at times, to see this hillside. You two have broken up 
almost the whole of the land on it yourselves.’’ 

‘‘Lord! yes, sir,’’? answered the old woman, ‘‘it has been 
our doing! We have fairly earned our bread.”’ 

‘Work, you see, and land to cultivate are the poor man’s 
consols. That good man would think himself disgraced if he 
went into the poorhouse or begged for his bread ; he would 
choose to die pickaxe in hand, out in the open, in the sun- 
light. Faith, he bears a proud heart in him. He has worked 
until work has become his very life; and yet death has no 
terrors for him! He is a profound philosopher, little as he 
suspects it. Old Moreau’s case suggested the idea to me of 
founding an almshouse for the country people of the district ; 
a refuge for those who, after working hard all their lives, have 
reached an honorable old age of poverty. 

‘‘T had by no means expected to make the fortune which I 
have acquired here ; indeed, I myself have no use for it, for 
a man who has fallen from the pinnacle of his hopes needs 
very little. It costs but little to live, the idler’s life alone is 
a costly one, and I am not sure that the unproductive con- 
sumer is not robbing the community at large. There was 
some discussion about Napoleon’s pension after his fall; it 
came to his ears, and he said that five francs a day and a horse 
to ride were all that he needed. I meant to have no more to 
do with money when I came here; but after a time I saw that 


102 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


money means power, and that it is in fact a necessity, if any 
good istobedone. So Ihave made arrangements in my will for 
turning my house into an almshouse, in which old people who 
have not Moreau’s fierce independence can end their days. 
Part of the income of nine thousand francs brought in by the 
mill and the rest of my property will be devoted to giving 
outdoor relief in hard winters to those who really stand in 
need of it. 

«This foundation will be under the control of the Municipal 
Council, with the addition of the curé, who is to be president ; 
and in this way the money made in the district will be returned 
to it. In my will I have laid down the lines on which this 
institution is to be conducted ; it would be tedious to go over 
them, it is enough to say that I have thought it all out very 
carefully. I have also created a trust fund, which will some 
day enable the commune to award several scholarships for 
children who show signs of promise in art or science. So, 
even after Iam gone, my work of civilization will continue. 
When you have set yourself to do anything, Captain Bluteau, 
something within you urges you on, you see, and you cannot 
bear to leave it unfinished. ‘This craving within us for order 
and for perfection is one of the signs that point most surely 
to a future existence. Now, let us quicken our pace, I have 
my round to finish, and there are five or six more patients still 
to be visited.”’ 

They cantered on for some time in silence, till Benassis said 
laughingly to his companion, ‘‘ Come now, Captain Bluteau, 
you have drawn me out and made me chatter like a magpie, 
and you have not said a syllable about your own history, 
which must be an interesting one. When a soldier has come 
to your time of life, he has seen so much that he must have 
more than one adventure to tell about.’’ 

‘¢ Why, my history has been simply the history of the army,’’ 
answered Genestas. ‘‘Soldiers are all after one pattern. 
Never in command, always giving and taking sabre-cuts in my 


A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 103 


place, I have lived just like everybody else. I have been 
wherever Napoleon led us, and have borne a part in every 
battle in which the Imperial Guard has struck a blow; but 
everybody knows all about these events. A soldier has to look 
after his horse, to endure hunger and thirst at times, to fight 
whenever there is fighting to be done, and there you have the 
whole history of his life. As simple as saying good-day, is it 
not? Then there are battles in which your horse casts a shoe 
at the outset and lands you in a quandary ; and as far as you 
are concerned, that is the whole of it. In short, I have seen 
so many countries, that seeing them has come to be a matter 
of course ; and I have seen so many men die that I have come 
to value my own life at nothing.”’ 

“But you yourself must have been in danger at times, and 
it would be interesting to hear ‘you tell of your personal ad- 
ventures.”’ 

‘* Perhaps,’’ answered the commandant. 

‘Well, then, tell me about the adventure that made the 
deepest impression upon you. Come! do not hesitate. I 
shall not think that you are wanting in modesty even if you 
should tell me of some piece of heroism on your part; and 
when a man is quite sure that he will not be misunderstood, 
ought he not to find a kind of pleasure in saying, ‘I did 
thus?” 

‘¢ Very well, then, I will tell you about something that gives 
me a pang of remorse from time to time. During fifteen 
years of warfare it never once happened that I killed a man 
save in legitimate defence of self. We are drawn up in line, 
and we charge; and if we do not strike down those before us, 
they will begin to draw blood without asking leave, so you 
have to kill if you do not mean to be killed, and your con- 
science is quite easy. But once I broke a comrade’s back; 
it happened in a singular way, and it has been a painful thing 
to me to think of afterwards—the man’s dying grimace haunts 
me at times. But you shall judge for yourself. 


? 


104 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


“‘Tt was during the retreat from Moscow,”’ the commandant 
went on. ‘*The Grand Army had ceased to be itself; we 
were more like a herd of overdriven cattle. Good-bye to 
discipline! The regiments had lost sight of their colors, 
every one was his own master, and the Emperor (one need 
not scruple to say it) knew that it was useless to attempt to 
exert his authority when things had gone so far. When we 
reached Studzianka, a little place on the other side of the 
Beresina, we came upon human dwellings for the first time 
after several days. There were barns and peasants’ cabins to 
destroy, and pits full of potatoes and beetroot ; the army had 
been without victuals, and now it fairly ran riot, the first 
comers, as you might expect, making a clean sweep of every- 
thing. 

‘¢T was one of the last to come up. Luckily for me, sleep 
was the one thing that Ilonged for just then. I caught sight of 
a barn and went into it. I looked round and saw a score of 
generals and officers of high rank, all of them men who, 
without flattery, might be called great. Junot was there, and 
Narbonne, the Emperor’s aide-de-camp, and all the chiefs of 
the army. ‘There were common soldiers there as well, not 
one of whom would have given up his bed of straw to a 
marshal of France. Some who were leaning their backs 
against the wall had dropped off to sleep where they stood, 
because there was no room to lie down; others lay stretched 
out on the floor—it was a mass of men packed together so 
closely for the sake of warmth, that I looked about in vain 
for a nook to lie down in. I walked over this flooring of human 
bodies ; some of the men growled, the others said nothing, but 
no one budged. ‘They would not have moved out of the way 
of acannon ball just then; but under the circumstances, one 
was not obliged to practise the maxims laid down by the 
child’s ‘Guide to Manners.’ Groping about, I saw at the 
end of the barn a sort of ledge up in the roof; no one had 
thought of scrambling up to it, possibly no one had felt equal 


A DOCTORS ROUND. 105 


to the effort. I clambered upand ensconced myself upon it ; 
and as I lay there at full length, I looked down at the men 
huddled together like sheep below. It was a pitiful sight, yet 
it almost made me laugh. <A man here and there was gnaw- 
ing a frozen carrot, with a kind of animal satisfaction expressed 
in his face ; and thunderous snores came from generals who lay 
muffled up in ragged cloaks. The whole barn was lighted by 
a blazing pine log; it might have set the place on fire, and 
no one would have troubled themselves to get up and put it 
out. 

‘¢T lay down on my back, and naturally, just before | 
dropped off, my eyes traveled to the roof above me, and then 
I saw that the main beam which bore the weight of the joists 
was being slightly shaken from east to west. The blessed 
thing danced about in fine style. ‘Gentlemen,’ said I, ‘one 
of our friends outside has a mind to warm himself at our 
expense.’ A few moments more and the beam was sure to 
comedown. ‘Gentlemen! gentlemen!’ I shouted, ‘ we shall 
all be killed in a minute! Look at the beam there!’ and I 
made such a noise that my bed-fellows woke at last. Well, 
sir, they all stared up at the beam, and then those who had 
been sleeping turned round and went off to sleep again, while 
those who were eating did not even stop to answer me. 

«Seeing how things were, there was nothing for it but to 
get up and leave my place, and run the risk of finding it 
taken by somebody else, for all the lives of this heap of heroes 
were at stake. So out Igo. I turn the corner of the barn 
and come upon a great devil of a Wiirtemberger, who was 
tugging at the beam with acertain enthusiasm. ‘Aho! aho!’ 
I shouted, trying to make him understand that he must desist 
from his toil. ‘Gehe mir aus dem Gesicht, oder ich schlag dich 
todt /’ (Get out of my sight, or I will kill you) he cried. 
‘Ah! yes, just so, Que mire aous dem guesit,’ 1 answered, ‘ but 
that is not the point.” I picked up his gun that he had left 
on the ground, and broke his back with it ; then I turned in 


106 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


again, and went off to sleep. Now you know the whole 
business. ”’ 

‘«But that was a case of self-defence, in which one man 
suffered for the good of many, so you have nothing to reproach 
yourself with,’’ said Benassis. 

“‘The rest of them thought that it had only been my 
fancy ; but fancy or no, a good many of them are living 
comfortably in fine houses to-day, without feeling their hearts 
oppressed by gratitude.’’ 

“¢Then would you only do people a good turn in order 
to receive that exorbitant interest called gratitude ?’’ said 
Benassis, laughing. ‘‘ That would be asking a great deal for 
your outlay.’’ 

“Oh, I know quite well that all the merit of a good deed 
evaporates at once if it benefits the doer in the slightest 
degree,’’ said Genestas. ‘‘If he tells the story of it, the toll 
brought in to his vanity is a sufficient substitute for gratitude. 
But if every doer of kindly actions always held his tongue 
about them, those who reaped the benefits would hardly say 
very much either. Now the people, according to your system, 
stand in need of examples, and how are they to hear of them 
amid this general reticence? Again, there is this poor 
pontooneer of ours, who saved the whole French army, and 
who was never able to tell his tale to any purpose ; suppose 
that he had lost the use of his limbs, would the consciousness 
of what he had done have found him in bread? Answer me 
that, philosopher ! ”’ 

‘« Perhaps the rules of morality cannot be absolute,’’ Benas- 
sis answered; ‘‘ though this is a dangerous idea, for it 
leaves the egotist free to settle cases of conscience in his own 
favor. Listen, captain; is not the man who never swerves 
from the principles of morality greater than he who trans- 
gresses them, even through necessity? Would not our vet- 
eran, dying of hunger, and unable to help himself, be worthy 
to rank with Homer? Human life is doubtless a final trial of 


A DOCTORS ROUND. 107 


virtue as of genius, for both of which a better world is wait- 
ing. Virtue and genius seem to me to be the fairest forms of 
that complete and constant surrender of self that Jesus Christ 
came among men to teach. Genius sheds its light in the 
world and lives in poverty all its days, and virtue sacrifices 
itself in silence for the general good.”’ 

<¢ J quite agree with you, sir,’’ said Genestas; ‘‘ but those 
who dwell on earth are men after all, and not angels; we are 
not perfect.”’ 

‘‘ That is quite true,’’ Benassis answered. ‘‘ And as for 
errors, I myself have abused the indulgence. But ought we 
not to aim, at any rate, at perfection? Is not virtue a fair 
ideal which the soul must always keep before it, a standard set 
up by heaven ?”’ 

«*Amen,’’ said the soldier. ‘* An upright man is a mag- 
nificent thing, I grant you; but, on the other hand, you must 
admit that virtue is a divinity who may indulge in a scrap of 
gossip now and then in the strictest propriety.”’ 

The doctor smiled, but there was a melancholy bitterness 
in his tone as he said, ‘‘ Ah! sir, you regard things with the 
lenience natural to those who live at peace with themselves; 
and I with all the severity of one who sees much that he 
would fain obliterate in the story of his life.’’ 

The two horsemen reached a cottage beside the bed of the 
torrent ; the doctor dismounted and went into the house. 
Genestas, on the threshold, looked over the bright spring 
landscape that lay without, and then at the dark interior of 
the cottage, where a man was lying in bed: Benassis examined 
his patient, and suddenly exclaimed, ‘‘ My good woman, it is 
_ no use my coming here unless you carry out my instructions! 
You have been giving him bread; you want to kill your 
husband, I suppose? Botheration! If after this you give 
him anything besides tisane of couch-grass, I will never set 
foot in here again, and you can look where you like for 
another doctor.”’ 


108 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


‘But, dear M. Benassis, my old man was starving, and 
when he had eaten nothing for a whole fortnight 4 

“Oh, yes, yes. Now will you listen to me? If you let 
your husband eat a single mouthful of bread before I give him 
leave to take solid food, you will kill him, do you hear ?’’ 

‘‘ He shall not have anything, sir. Is he any better?’’ she 
asked, following the doctor to the door. 

‘“Why, no. You have made him worse by feeding him. 
Shall I never get it into your stupid heads that you must not 
stuff people who are being dieted?”’ 

‘The peasants are incorrigible,’’ Benassis went on, speak- 
ing to Genestas. ‘If a patient has eaten nothing for two or 
three days, they think he is at death’s door, and they cram 
him with soup or wine or something. Here is a wretched 
woman for you that has all but killed her husband.”’ 

‘* Kill my husband with a little mite of a sop in wine !”’ 

“Certainly, my good woman. It amazes me that he is 
still alive after that mess you cooked for him. Mind that you 
do exactly as I have told you.’’ 

“Yes, dear sir, I would far rather die myself than lose 
him.’’ 

‘‘Oh! as to that I shall soon see. I shall come again 
to-morrow evening to bleed him.”’ 

‘Let us walk along the side of the stream,’’ Benassis said 
to Genestas; ‘‘ there is only a footpath between this cottage 
and the next house where I must pay a call. That man’s 
little boy will hold our horses. 

**You must admire this lovely valley of ours a little,’’ he 
went on; ‘‘it is like an English garden, isit not? The laborer 
who lives in the cottage which we are going to visit has never 
got over the death of one of his children. The eldest boy, 
he was only a lad, would try to do a man’s work last harvest- 
tide ; it was beyond his strength, and before the autumn was 
out he died of a decline. This is the first case of really 
strong fatherly love that has come under my notice. As a 





A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 109 


rule, when their children die, the peasant’s regret is for the 
loss of a useful chattel and a part of their stock-in-trade, and 
the older the child the heavier their sense of loss. A grown- 
up son or daughter is so much capital to the parents. But 
this poor fellow really loved that boy of his. ‘ Nothing can 
comfort me for my loss,’ he said one day when I came across 
him out in the fields. He had forgotten all about his work, 
and was standing there motionless, leaning on his scythe; he 
had picked up his hone, it lay in his hand, and he had forgot- 
ten to use it. He has never spoken since of his grief to me, 
but he has grown sad and silent. Just now it is one of his 
little girls who is ill.”’ 

Benassis and his guest reached the little house as they 
talked. It stood beside a pathway that led to a bark-mill. 
They saw a man about forty years of age, standing under a 
willow tree, eating bread that had been rubbed with a clove 
of garlic. 

‘«< Well, Gasnier, is the little one doing better?’’ asked the 
doctor as he came up to him. 

‘‘T do not know, sir,’’ he said dejectedly, ‘‘ you will see ; 
my wife is sitting with her. In spite of all your care, I am 
very much afraid that death will come to empty my home for 
me. 

“Do not lose heart, Gasnier. Death is too busy to take up 
his abode in any dwelling.”’ 

Benassis went into the house, followed by the father. Half 
an hour later he came out again. The mother was with him 
this time, and he spoke to her, ‘‘ You need have no anxiety 
about her now; follow out my instructions; she is out of 
danger.”’ 

«<If you are growing tired of this sort of thing,’’ the doctor 
said to the officer, as he mounted his horse, ‘‘ I can put you 
on the way to the town, and you can return.”’ 

‘No, I am not tired of it, I give you my word.”’ 

“But you will only see cottages everywhere, and they are 


110 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


all alike; nothing, to outward seeming, is more monotonous 
than the country.’’ 

‘‘Let us go on,’’ said the officer, as he rode up to the 
doctor’s side. 

They rode on in this way for several hours, and after going 
from one side of the canton to the other they returned to- 
wards evening to the precincts of the town. 

**T must just go over there,’’ the doctor said to Genestas, 
as he pointed out a place where a cluster of elm trees grew. 
‘** Those trees may possibly be two hundred years old,’’ he 
went on, ‘‘and that is where the woman lives, on whose 
account the lad came to fetch me last night at dinner, with 
a message that she had turned quite white.’’ 

‘Was it anything serious ?”’ 

‘*No,’’ said Benassis, ‘‘an effect of pregnancy. It is the 
last month with her, a time at which some women suffer from 
spasms. But by way of precaution, I must go in any case to 
make sure that there are no further alarming symptoms; I 
shall see her through her confinement myself. And, more- 
over, I should like to show you one of our new industries ; 
there is a brickfield here. It is a good road; shall we 
gallop?”’ 

** Will your animal keep up with mine?’’ asked Genestas. 
“‘Heigh! Neptune!’’ he called to his horse, and in a mo- 
ment the officer had been carried far ahead, and was lost to 
sight in a cloud of dust, but in spite of the paces of his horse 
he still heard the doctor beside him. At a word from Benassis 
his own horse left the commandant so far behind that the 
latter only came up with him at the gate of the brickfield, 
where the doctor was quietly fastening the bridle to the gate- 
post. 

‘«The devil take it!’’ cried Genestas, after a look at the 
horse, that was neither sweated nor blown. ‘‘ What kind of 
animal have you there ?’”’ 

** Ah!”’ said the doctor, ‘‘ you took him for a screw! The 


A DOCTORS ROUND. 111 


history of this fine fellow would take up too much time just 
now ; let it suffice to say that Roustan is a thoroughbred barb 
from the Atlas mountains, and a Barbary horse is as good as an 
Arab. This one of mine will gallop up the mountain roads 
without turning a hair, and will never miss his footing in a 
canter along the brink of a precipice. He was a present to 
me, and I think that I deserved it, for in this way a father 
sought to repay me for his daughter’s life. She is one of the 
wealthiest heiresses in Europe, and she was at the brink of 
death when I found her on the road to Savoy. If I were to 
tell you how I cured that young lady, you would take me for 
a quack. Aha! that is the sound of the bells on the horses 
and the rumbling of a wagon; it is coming along this way ; 
let us see, perhaps that is Vigneau himself ; and if so, take a 
good look at him!”’ 

In another moment the officer saw a team of four huge 
horses, like those which are owned by prosperous farmers in 
Brie. The harness, the little bells, and the knots of braid in 
their manes were clean and smart. The great wagon itself 
was painted bright blue, and perched aloft in it sat a stalwart, 
sunburned youth, who shouldered his whip like a gun and 
whistled a tune. 

‘*No,’’ said Benassis, ‘‘ that is only the teamster. But see 
how the master’s prosperity in business is reflected by all his 
belongings, even by the carter’s wagon! Is it not a sign of 
a capacity for business not very often met with in remote 
country places ?”’ 

“Yes, yes, itall looks very smart indeed,”’ the officeranswered. 

‘* Well, Vigneau has two more wagons and teams like that 
one, and he has a small pony besides for business purposes, 
for he does a trade over a wide area. And only four years 
ago he had nothing in the world! Stay, that is a mistake— 
he had some debts. But let us go in.’’ 

*‘Is Mme. Vigneau in the house?’’ Benassis asked of the 
young teamster, 


112 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


«‘She is out in the garden, sir; I saw her just now by the 
hedge down yonder ; I will go and tell her that you are here.”’ 

Genestas followed Benassis across a wide open space with a 
hedge about it. In one corner various heaps of clay had been 
piled up, destined for tiles and pantiles, and a stack of brush- 
wood and logs (fuel for the kiln no doubt) lay in another part 
of the enclosure. Farther away some workmen were pounding 
chalk-stones and tempering the clay in a space enclosed by 
hurdles. The tiles, both round and square, were made under 
the great elms opposite the gateway, in a vast green arbor 
bounded by the roofs of the drying-shed, and near this last 
the yawning mouth of the kiln was visible. Some long- 
handled shovels lay about the worn cinder path. A second 
row of buildings had been erected parallel with these. There 
was a sufficiently wretched dwelling which housed the family, 
and some outbuildings—sheds and stables and abarn. The 
cleanliness that predominated throughout, and the thorough 
repair in which everything was kept, spoke well for the vigil- 
ance of the master’s eyes. Some poultry and pigs wandered 
at large over the field. 

‘«Vigneau’s predecessor,’’ said Benassis, ‘‘ was a good-for« 
nothing, a lazy rascal who cared about nothing but drink. 
He had been a workman himself; he could keep a fire in his 
kiln and could put a price on his work, and that was about all 
he knew; he had no energy, and no idea of business. If no 
one came to buy his wares of him, they simply stayed on hand 
and were spoiled, and so he lost the value of them. So he 
died of want at last. He had ill-treated his wife till she was 
almost idiotic, and she lived in a state of abject wretchedness. 
It was so painful to see this laziness and incurable stupidity, 
and I so much disliked the sight of the tile-works, that I never 
came this way if I could help it. Luckily, both the man and 
his wife were old people. One fine day the tile-maker had a 
paralytic stroke, and I had him removed to the hospital at 
Grenoble at once. The owner of the tile-works agreed to 


A DOCTORS ROUND. 113 


take it over without disputing about its condition, and I 
looked round for new tenants who would take their part in 
improving the industries of the canton. 

‘© Mme. Gravier’s waiting-maid had married a poor work- 
man, who was earning so little with the potter who employed 
him that he could not support his household. He listened to 
my advice, and actually had sufficient courage to take a lease 
of our tile-works, when he had not so much asa penny. He 
came and took up his abode here, taught his wife, her aged 
mother, and his own mother how to make tiles, and made 
workmen of them. How they managed, I do not know, upon 
my honor! Vigneau probably borrowed fuel to heat his kiln, 
he certainly worked by day, and fetched in his materials in 
basket-loads by night; in short, no one knew what bound- 
less energy he brought to bear upon his enterprise ; and the 
two old mothers, clad in rags, worked like negroes. In this 
way Vigneau contrived to fire several batches, and lived for 
the first year on bread that was hardly won by the toil of his 
household. 

‘*Still, he made a living. His courage, patience, and ster- 
ling worth interested many people in him, and he began to be 
known. He was indefatigable. He would hurry over to 
Grenoble in the morning, and sell his bricks and tiles there ; 
then he would return home about the middle of the day, and 
go back again to the town at night. He seemed to be in sev- 
eral places at once. Towards the end of the first year he took 
two little lads to help him. Seeing how things were, I loaned 
him some money, and since then from year to year the fortunes 
of the family have steadily improved. After the second year 
was over the two old mothers no longer moulded bricks nor 
pounded stones ; they looked after the little gardens, made the 
soup, mended the clothes, they did spinning in the evenings, 
and gathered firewood in the daytime; while the young wife, 
who can read and write, kept the accounts. Vigneau had a 
small horse, and rode on his business errands about the neigh- 

8 


114 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR, 


borhood ; next he thoroughly studied the art of brick and tile 
making, discovered how to make excellent square white paving- 
tiles, and sold them for less than the usual prices. In the 
third year he had a cart and a pair of horses, and at the same 
time his wife’s appearance became almost elegant. Every- 
thing about his household improved with the improvement in 
his business, and everywhere there were the same neatness, 
method, and thrift that had been the making of his little 
fortune. 

‘* At last he had work enough for six men, to whom he pays 
good wages ; he employs a teamster, and everything about him 
wears an air of prosperity. Little by little, in short, by dint 
of taking pains and extending his business, his income has 
increased. He bought the tile-works last year, and next year 
he will rebuild his house. To-day all the worthy folk there 
are well clothed and in good health. His wife, who used to 
be so thin and pale when the burden of her husband’s cares 
and anxieties used to press so hardly upon her, has recovered 
her good looks and has grown quite young and pretty again. 
The two old mothers are thoroughly happy, and take the 
deepest interest in every detail of the housekeeping or of the 
business. Work has brought money, and the money that 
brought freedom from care brought health and plenty and 
happiness. The story of this household is a living history in 
miniature of the commune since I have known it, and of all 
young industrial states. The tile factory that used to look so 
empty, melancholy, ill-kept, and useless, is now in full work, 
astir with life, and well stocked with everything required. 
There is a good stock of wood here, and all the raw material 
for the season’s work: for, as you know, tiles can only be 
made during a few months in the year, between June and Sep- 
tember. Is it not a pleasure to see all this activity? My tile- 
maker has done his share of the work in every building in the 
place. He is always wide awake, always coming and going, 
always busy—‘ the devourer,’ they call him in these parts.” 


A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 115 


Benassis had scarcely finished speaking when the wicket 
gate which gave entrance to the garden opened, and a nicely- 
dressed young woman appeared. She came forward as quickly 
as her condition allowed, though the two horsemen hastened 
towards her. Her attire somewhat recalled her former quality 
ot ladies’ maid, for she wore a pretty cap, a pink dress, a silk 
apron, and white stockings. Mme. Vigneau, in short, was a 
nice-looking woman, sufficiently plump, and if she wassomewhat 
sunburned, her natural complexion must have been very fair. 
There were a few lines still left in her forehead, traced there 
by the troubles of past days, but she had a bright and winsome 
face. She spoke in a persuasive voice, as she saw that the 
doctor came no farther, ‘*‘ Will you not do me the honor of 
coming inside and resting for a moment, M. Benassis? ”’ 

“¢ Certainly we will. Come this way, captain.”’ 

‘©The gentlemen must be very hot! Will you take a little 
milk or some wine? M. Benassis, please try a little of the 
wine that my husband has been so kind as to buy for my con- 
finement. You will tell me if it is good.’’ 

‘© You have a good man for your husband.’’ 

“Yes, sir,’’ she turned and spoke in quiet tones, ‘‘ I am 
very well off.’’ 

‘¢ We will not take anything, Mme. Vigneau; I only came 
round this way to see that nothing troublesome had hap- 
pened.”’ 

‘‘Nothing,’’ she said. ‘‘ I was busy out in the garden, as 
you saw, turning the soil over for the sake of something 
to'do:’” 

Then the two old mothers came out to speak to Benassis, 
and the young teamster planted himself in the middle of the 
yard, in a spot whence he could have a good view of the 
doctor. 

‘‘Let us see, let me have your hand,”’ said Benassis, ad- 
dressing Mme. Vigneau ; and as he carefully felt her pulse, he 
stood in silence, absorbed in thought. The three women, 


? 


116 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


meanwhile, scrutinized the commandant with the undisguised 
curiosity that country people do not scruple to express. 

** Nothing could be better! ’’ cried the doctor cheerily. 

«*Will she be confined soon ?’’ both the mothers asked 
together. 

‘*This week beyond a doubt. Is Vigneau away from 
home ?”’ he asked, after a pause. 

‘Yes, sir,’’ the young wife answered; ‘‘he is hurrying 
about settling his business affairs, so as to be able to stay at 
home during my confinement, the dear man!”’ 

‘Well, my children, go on and prosper; continue to 
increase your wealth and to add to your family.”’ 

The cleanliness of the almost ruinous dwelling filled 
Genestas with admiration. 

Benassis saw the officer’s astonishment, and said, ‘‘ There 
is no one like Mme. Vigneau for keeping a house clean and 
tidy like this. I wish that several people in the town would 
come here to take a lesson.’”’ 

The tile-maker’s wife blushed and turned her head away ; 
but the faces of the two old mothers beamed with pleasure at 
the doctor’s words, and the three women walked with them 
to the spot where the horses were waiting. 

‘‘ Well, now,’’ the doctor said to the two old women, 
“‘here is happiness for you both! Were you not longing to 
be grandmothers ?”’ 

‘Qh, do not talk about it,’’ said the young wife; ‘‘ they 
will drive me crazy among them. My two mothers wish for 
a boy, and my husband would like to have a little girl. It 
will be very difficult to please them all, I think.’’ 

<¢ But you yourself,’’ asked Benassis ; ‘‘ what is your wish?’”’ 

«¢ Ah, sir, I wish for a child of my own.’’ 

‘“‘There! She is a mother already, you see,’’ said the 
doctor to the officer, as he laid his hand on the bridle of his 
horse. 

“¢ Good-bye, M. Benassis; my husband will be sadly dis- 


A DOCTOR’S ROUND. 117 


appointed to learn that you have been here when he was not 
at home to see you.’’ 

‘‘He has not forgotten to send the thousand tiles to the 
Grange-aux-Belles for me ?”’ 

‘‘You know quite well, sir, that he would keep all the 
orders in the canton waiting to serve you. Why, taking your 
money is the thing that troubles him most ; but I always tell 
him that your crowns bring luck with them, and so they do.”’ 

“¢ Good-bye,”” said Benassis. 

A little group gathered about the bars across the entrance 
to the tile-works. The three women, the young teamster, 
and two workmen who had left off work to greet the doctor 
lingered there to have the pleasure of being with him until 
the last moment, as we are wont to linger with those we love. 
The promptings of men’s hearts must everywhere be the same, 
and in every land friendship expresses itself in the same 
gracious ways. 

Benassis looked at the height of the sun and spoke to his 
companion— 

“¢ There are still two hours of daylight left; and if you are 
not too hungry, we will go to see some one with whom I 
nearly always spend the interval between the last of my visits 
and the hour for dinner. She is a charming girl whom every 
one here calls my ‘ good friend.’ That is the name that they 
usually give to an affianced bride; but you must not imagine 
that there is the slightest imputation of any kind implied or 
intended by the use of the word in this case. Poor child, the 
care that I have taken of her has, as may be imagined, made 
her an object of jealousy, but the general opinion entertained 
as to my character has prevented any spiteful gossip. If no 
one understands the apparent caprice that has led me to make 
an allowance to La Fosseuse, so that she can live without 
being compelled to work, nobody has any doubts as to her 
character. I have watched over her with friendly care, and 
every one knows that I should never hesitate to marry her if 


118 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


my affection for her exceeded the limits of friendship. But 
no woman exists for me here in the canton or anywhere else,”’ 
sald the doctor, forcing a smiie. ‘‘ Some natures feel a tyran- 
nous need to attach themselves to some one thing or being 
which they single out from among the beings and things 
around them; this need is felt most keenly by a man of quick 
sympathies, and all the more pressingly if his life has been 
made desolate. So, trust me, it is a favorable sign if a man 
is strongly attached to his dog or his horse! Among the 
suffering flock which chance has given into my care, this poor 
little sufferer has come to be for me like the pet lamb that the 
shepherd lasses deck with ribbons in my own sunny land of 
Languedoc ; they talk to it and allow it to find pasture by the 
side of the cornfields, and its leisurely pace is never hurried 
by the shepherd’s dog.”’ 

Benassis stood with his hand on his horse’s mane as he 
spoke, ready to spring into the saddle, but making no effort to 
do so, as though the thoughts that stirred in him were but 
little in keeping with rapid movements. 

«Let us go,’’ he said at last ; ‘‘ come with me and pay her 
a visit. Iam taking you to see her; does not that tell you 
that I treat her asa sister?’ 

As they rode on their way again, Genestas said to the 
doctor, ‘* Will you regard it as inquisitiveness on my part if I 
ask to hear more of La Fosseuse? I have come to know the 
story of many lives through you, and hers cannot be less 
interesting than some of these.’’ 

Benassis stopped his horse as he answered. ‘‘ Perhaps you 
will not share in the feelings of interest awakened in me 
by La Fosseuse. Her fate is like my own; we have both 
alike missed our vocation ; it is the similarity of our lots that 
occasions my sympathy for her and the feelings that I experi- 
ence at the sight of her. You either followed your natural 
bent when you entered upon a military career, or you took a 
liking for your calling after you had adopted it, otherwise you 


A DOCTOR'S ROUND, 119 


would not have borne the heavy yoke of military discipline till 
now ; you, therefore, cannot understand the sorrows of a soul 
that must always feel renewed within it the stir of longings 
that can never be realized; nor the pining existence of a 
creature forced to live in an alien sphere. Such sufferings as 
these are known only to these natures and to God who sends 
their afflictions, for they alone can know how deeply the 
events of life affect them. You yourself have seen the 
miseries produced by long wars till they have almost ceased 
to impress you, but have you never detected a trace of sadness 
in your mind at the sight of a tree bearing sere leaves in the 
midst of spring, some tree that is pining and dying because it 
has been planted in soil in which it could not find the suste- 
nance required for its full development? Ever since my 
twentieth year there has been something painful and melan- 
choly for me about the drooping of a stunted plant, and now 
I cannot bear the sight and turn my head away. My youth- 
ful sorrow was a vague presentiment of the sorrows of my 
later life ; it was a kind of sympathy between my present and 
a future dimly foreshadowed by the life of the tree that before 
its time was going the way of all trees and men.”’ 

‘T thought that you had suffered when I saw how kind you 
were.”’ 

“« Vou see, sir,’’ the doctor went on without any reply to 
the remark made by Genestas, ‘‘ that to speak of La Fosseuse 
is to speak of myself. La Fosseuse is a plant in an alien soil ; 
a human plant, moreover, consumed by sad thoughts that have 
their source in the depths of her nature, and that never cease 
to multiply. The poor girl is never well and strong. The 
soul within her kills the body. This fragile creature was suf- 
fering from the sorest of all troubles, a trouble which receives 
the least possible sympathy from our selfish world, and how 
could I look on with indifferent eyes? for I, a man, strong to 
wrestle with pain, was nightly tempted to refuse to bear the 
burden of a sorrow like hers. Perhaps I might actually have 


120 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


refused to bear it but for a thought of religion which soothes 
my impatience and fills my heart with sweet illusions, Even 
if we were not children of the same Father in heaven, La 
Fosseuse would still be my sister in suffering ! ”’ 

Benassis pressed his knees against his horse’s sides, and 
swept ahead of Commandant Genestas, as if he shrank from 
continuing this conversation any further. When their horses 
were once more cantering abreast of each other, he spoke 
again: ‘‘ Nature has created this poor girl for sorrow,’’ he 
said, ‘‘as she has created other women for joy. It is impos- 
sible to do otherwise than believe in a future life at the sight 
of natures thus predestined to suffer. La Fosseuse is sensitive 
and highly strung. If the weather is dark and cloudy, she is 
depressed ; she ‘ weeps when the sky is weeping,’ a phrase of 
of her own; she sings with the birds; she grows happy and 
serene under a cloudless sky ; the loveliness of a bright day 
passes into her face ; a soft sweet perfume is an inexhaustible 
pleasure to her; I have seen her take delight the whole day 
long in the scent breathed forth by some mignonette; and, 
after one of those rainy mornings that bring out all the soul 
of the flowers and give indescribable freshness and brightness 
to the day, she seems to overflow with gladness like the green 
world around her. If it is close and hot, and there is thunder 
in the air, La Fosseuse feels a vague trouble that nothing can 
soothe. She lies on her bed, complains of numberless dif- 
ferent ills, and does not know what ails her. In answer to 
my questions, she tells me that her bones are melting, that she 
is dissolving into water; her ‘heart has left her,’ to quote 
another of her sayings. 

“‘T have sometimes come upon the poor child suddenly 
and found her in tears, as she gazed at the sunset effects we 
sometimes see here among our mountains, when bright masses 
of cloud gather and crowd together and pile themselves above 
the golden peaks of the hills. ‘Why are you crying, little 
one ?’ I have asked her. ‘Ido not know, sir,’ has been the 


A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 121 


answer; ‘I have grown so stupid with looking up there; I 
have looked and looked, till I hardly know where I am.’ 
‘But what do you see there?’ ‘I cannot tell you, sir,’ and 
you might question her in his way all the evening, yet you 
would never draw a word from her; but she would look at 
you, and every glance would seem full of thoughts, or she 
would sit with tears in her eyes, scarcely saying a word, ap- 
parently rapt in musing. Those musings of hers are so pro- 
found that you fall under the spell of them; on me, at least, 
she has the effect of a cloud overcharged with electricity. 
One day I plied her with questions ; I tried with all my might 
to make her talk; at last I let fall a few rather hasty words ; 
and well—she burst into tears. 

‘¢ At other times La Fosseuse is bright and winning, active, 
merry, and sprightly ; she enjoys talking, and the ideas which 
she expresses are fresh and original. She is, however, quite 
unable to apply herself steadily to any kind of work. When 
she was out in the fields she used to spend whole hours in 
looking at a flower, in watching the water flow, in gazing at 
the wonders in the depths of the clear, still river pools, at the 
picturesque mosaic made up of pebbles and earth and sand, 
of water plants and green moss, and the brown soil washed 
down by the stream, a deposit full of soft shades of color, 
and of hues that contrast strangely with each other. 

‘¢ When I first came to the district the poor girl was star- 
ving. It hurt her pride to accept the bread of others ; and it 
was only when driven to the last extremity of want and 
suffering that she could bring herself to ask for charity. The 
feeling that this was a disgrace would often give her energy, 
and for several days she worked in the fields ; but her strength 
was soon exhausted, and illness obliged her to leave the work 
that she had begun. She had scarcely recovered when she 
went to a farm on the outskirts of the town and asked to be 
taken on to look after the cattle; she did her work well and 
intelligently, but after a while she left without giving any 


122 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


reason for so doing. The constant toil, day after day, was 
no doubt too heavy a yoke for one who is all independence 
and caprice. Then she set herself to look for mushrooms or 
for truffles, going over to Grenoble to sell them. But the 
gaudy trifles in the town were very tempting, the few small 
coins in her hand seemed to be great riches ; she would forget 
her poverty and buy ribbons and finery, without a thought for 
to-morrow’s bread. But if some other girl here in the town 
took a fancy to her brass crucifix, her agate heart, or her velvet 
ribbon, she would make them over to her at once, glad to 
give happiness, for she lives by generous impulses. So La 
Fosseuse was loved and pitied and despised by turns. Every- 
thing in her nature was a cause of suffering to her—her 
indolence, her kindness of heart, her coquetry; for she is 
coquettish, dainty, and inquisitive ; in short, she is a woman ; 
she is as simple as a child, and, like a child, she is carried 
away by her tastes and her impressions. If you tell her about 
some noble deed, she trembles, her color rises, her heart 
throbs fast, and she sheds tears of joy; if you begin a 
story about robbers, she turns pale with terror. You could 
not find a more sincere, open-hearted, and scrupulously loyal 
nature anywhere ; if you were to give a hundred gold-pieces 
into her keeping, she would bury them in some out-of-the-way 
nook and beg her bread as before.”’ 

There was a change in Benassis’ tone as he uttered these 
last words. 

““T once determined to put her to the proof,” he said, “‘and 
I repented of it. It is like espionage to bring a test to bear 
upon another, is it not? It means that we suspect them at 
any rate.’’ 

Here the doctor paused, as though some inward reflection 
engrossed him; he was quite unconscious of the embarrass- 
ment that his last remark had caused to his companion, who 
busied himself with disentangling the reins in order to hide 
his confusion. Benassis soon resumed his talk. 


A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 123 


‘«T should like to find a husband for my Fosseuse. I should 
be glad to make over one of my farms to some good fellow 
who would make her happy. And she would be happy. The 
poor girl would love her children to distraction ; for mother- 
hood, which develops the whole of a woman’s nature, would 
give full scope to her overflowing sentiments. She has never 
cared for any one, however. Yet her impressionable nature 
is a danger to her. She knows this herself, and when she saw 
that I recognized it, she admitted the excitability of her tem- 
perament to me. She belongs to the small minority of women 
whom the slightest contact with others causes to vibrate peril- 
ously ; so that she must be made to value herself on her 
discretion and her womanly pride. She is as wild and shy as 
aswallow! Ah! what a wealth of kindness there is in her! 
Nature meant her to be a rich woman ; she would be so benefi- 
cent: for a well-loved woman ; she would be so faithful and 
true. She is only twenty-two years old, and is sinking already 
beneath the weight of her soul; a victim to highly-strung 
nerves, to an organization either too delicate or too full of 
power. A passionate love for a faithless lover would drive 
her mad, my poor Fosseuse! I have made a study of her 
temperament, recognized the reality of her prolonged nervous 
attacks, and of the swift mysterious recurrence of her uplifted 
moods. I found that they were immediately dependent on 
atmospheric changes and on the variations of the moon, a 
fact which I have carefully verified ; and since then I have 
cared for her, as a creature unlike all others, for she is a being 
whose ailing existence I alone can understand. As I have 
told you, she is the pet lamb. But you shall see her; this is 
her cottage.”’ 

They had come about one-third of the way up the mountain 
side. Low bushes grew on either hand along the steep paths 
which they were ascending at a foot pace. At last, at a turn 
in one of the paths, Genestas saw La Fosseuse’s dwelling, 
which stood on one of the largest knolls on the mountain. 


124 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


Around it was a green sloping space of lawn about three acres 
in extent, planted with trees, and surrounded by a wall high 
enough to serve as a fence, but not so high as to shut out the 
view of the landscape. Several rivulets that had their source 
in this garden formed little cascades among the trees. The 
brick-built cottage with a low roof that projected several feet 
was a charming detail in the landscape. It consisted of a 
ground floor and a single story, and stood facing the south. 
All the windows were in the front of the house, for its small 
size and lack of depth from back to front made other openings 
unnecessary. The doors and shutters were painted green, and 
the underside of the penthouses had been lined with deal 
boards in the German fashion, and painted white. The rustic 
charm of the whole little dwelling lay in its spotless cleanliness. 

Climbing plants and briar roses grew about the house; a 
great walnut tree had been allowed to remain among the 
flowering acacias and trees that bore sweet-scented blossoms, 
and a few weeping willows had been set by the little streams 
in the garden space. A thick belt of pines and beeches grew 
behind the house, so that the picturesque little dwelling was 
brought out into strong relief by the sombre width of back- 
ground. At that hour of the day, the air was fragrant with 
the scents from the hillsides and the perfume from La Fosseuse’s 
garden. The sky overhead was clear and serene, but low 
clouds hung on the horizon, and the far-off peaks had begun 
to take the deep rose hues that the sunset often brings. At 
the height which they had reached the whole valley lay before 
their eyes, from distant Grenoble to the little lake at the foot 
of the circle of crags by which Genestas had passed on the 
previous day. Some little distance above the house a line of 
poplars on the hill indicated the highway that led to Grenoble. 
Rays of sunlight fell slantwise across the little town which 
glittered like a diamond, for the soft red light which poured 
over it like a flood was reflected by all its window-panes. 
Genestas reined in his horse at the sight, and pointed to the 


A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 125 


dwellings in the valley, to the new town, and to La Fosseuse’s 
house. 

‘¢ Since the victory of Wagram, and Napoleon’s return to 
the Tuileries in 1815,’’ he said, with a sigh, ‘* nothing has so 
stirred me as the sight of all this. I owe this pleasure to you, 
sir, for you have taught me to see beauty in a landscape.”’ 

‘* Yes,’’ said the doctor, smiling as he spoke, “it is better 
to build towns than to storm them.’’ 

‘Oh! sir, how about the taking of Moscow and the sur- 
render of Mantua! Why, you do not really know what that 
means! Is it not a glory forall of us? You are a good man, 
but Napoleon also was a good man. If it had not been for 
England, you both would have understood each other, and our 
Emperor would never have fallen. There are no spies here,”’ 
said the officer, looking around him, ‘‘and I can say openly 
that I love him, now that he is dead! What aruler! He 
knew every man when he saw him! He would have made you 
a Councilor of State, for he was a great administrator him- 
self; even to the point of knowing how many cartridges were 
left in the men’s boxes after an action. Poor man! While 
you were talking about La Fosseuse, I thought of him, and 
how he was lying dead in St. Helena! Was that the kind of 
climate and country to suit 4zm, whose seat had been a throne, 
and who had lived with his feet in the stirrups? They say 
that he used to work in the garden. The deuce! He was 
not made to plant cabbages. And now we must serve the 
Bourbons, and loyally, sir ; for, after all, France is France, as 
you were saying yesterday.”’ 

Genestas dismounted as he uttered these last words, and 
mechanically followed the example set by Benassis, who fast- 
ened his horse’s bridle to a tree. 

«« Can she be away ?’”’ said the doctor, when he did not see 
La Fosseuse on the threshold. They went into the house, but 
there was no one in the sitting-room on the ground floor. 

«¢She must have heard the sound of a second horse,”’ said 





126 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


Benassis, with a smile, ‘and has gone upstairs to put on her 
cap, or her sash, or some piece of finery.’’ 

He left Genestas alone, and went upstairs in search of La 
Fosseuse. The commandant made-a survey of the room. 
He noticed the pattern of the paper that covered the walls— 
roses scattered over a gray background, and the straw matting 
that did duty for a carpet on the floor. The armchair, the 
table, and the smaller chairs were made of wood from which 
the bark had not been removed. The room was not without 
ornament ; some flower-stands, as they might be called, made 
of osiers and wooden hoops, had been filled with moss and 
flowers, and the windows were draped by white dimity curtains 
bordered with a scarlet fringe. There was a mirror above the 
chimney-piece, where a plain china jar stood between two 
candlesticks. Some calico lay on the table; shirts, appar- 
ently, had been cut out and begun, several pairs of gussets 
were finished, and a work-basket, scissors, needles, and thread, 
and all a needle-woman’s requirements lay beside them. 
Everything was as fresh and clean as a shell that the sea has 
tossed up on the beach. Genestas saw that a kitchen lay on 
the other side of the passage, and that the staircase was at the 
farther end of it. The upper story, like the ground floor, 
evidently consisted of two rooms only. ‘‘ Come, do not be 
frightened,’’ Benassis was saying to La Fosseuse; ‘‘ come 
downstairs !”’ 

Genestas promptly retreated into the sitting-room when he 
heard these words, and in another moment a slender girl, well 
and gracefully made, appeared in the doorway. She wore a 
gown of cambric, covered with narrow pink stripes, and cut 
low at the throat, so as to display a muslin chemisette. Shy- 
ness and timidity had brought the color to a face which had 
nothing very remarkable about it save a certain flatness of 
feature which called to mind the Cossack and Russian counte- 
nances that since the disasters of 1814 have unfortunately come 
to be so widely known in France. La Fosseuse was, in fact, very 


A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 127 


like these men of the North. Her nose turned up at the end, 
and was sunk in her face, her mouth was wide and her chin 
small, her hands and arms were red and, like her feet, were 
of the peasant type, large and strong. Although she had 
been used to an outdoor life, to exposure to the sun and the 
scorching summer winds, her complexion had the bleached 
look of withered grass; but after the first glance this made 
her face more interesting, and there was such a sweet expres- 
sion in her blue eyes, so much grace about her movements, 
and such music in her voice, that little as her features seemed 
to harmonize with the disposition which Benassis had praised 
to the commandant, the officer recognized in her the capric- 
ious: and ailing creature, condemned to suffering by a nature 
that had been thwarted in its growth. 

La Fosseuse deftly stirred the fire of dry branches and turfs 
of peat, then sat down in an armchair and took up one of the 
shirts that she had begun. She sat there under the officer’s 
eyes, half bashful, afraid to look up, and calm to all appear- 
ance; but her bodice rose and fell with the rapid breathing 
that betrayed her nervousness, and it struck Genestas that her 
figure was very graceful. 

‘‘ Well, my poor child, is your work going on nicely ?”’ 
said Benassis, taking up the material intended for the shirts, 
and passing it through his fingers. 

La Fosseuse gave the doctor a timid and beseeching glance, 
at the same time ceasing to ply her needle. 

““Do not scold me, sir,’’ she entreated; ‘‘I have not 
touched them to-day, although they were ordered by you, and 
for people who need them very badly. But the weather has 
been so fine! I wandered out and picked a quantity of mush- 
rooms and white truffles, and took them over to Jacquotte ; 
she was very much pleased, for some people are coming to 
dinner. I was so glad that I thought of it; something seemed 
to tell me to go to look for them.’’ 

She began to ply her needle again. 


128 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


‘© You have a very pretty house here, mademoiselle,’’ said 
Genestas, addressing her. 

«‘It is not mine at all, sir,’’ she said, looking at the 
stranger, and her eyes seemed to grow red and tearful; ‘‘it 
belongs to M. Benassis,’’ and she turned towards the doctor 
with a gentle expression on her face. 

‘“You know quite well, my child, that you will never have 
to leave it,’’ he said, as he took her hand in his. 

La Fosseuse suddenly rose and left the room. 

‘«‘ Well,’’ said the doctor, addressing the officer, ‘‘ what do 
you think of her?’”’ 

““There is something strangely touching about her,”’ 
Genestas answered. ‘‘ How very nicely you have fitted up 
this little nest of hers !”’ 

‘‘ Bah! a wall-paper at fifteen or twenty sows; it was care- 
fully chosen, but that was all. The furniture is nothing very 
much either, my basket-maker made it for me ; he wanted to 
show his gratitude; and La Fosseuse made the curtains her- 
self out of a few yards of calico. This little house of hers 
and her simple furniture seem pretty to you, because you 
come upon them up here on a hillside in a forlorn part of the 
world where you did not expect to find things clean and tidy. 
The reason of the prettiness is a kind of harmony between 
the little house and its surroundings. Nature has set pictur- 
esque groups of trees and running streams about it, and has 
scattered her fairest flowers among the grass, her sweet-scented 
wild strawberry blossoms, and her lovely violets Well, 
what is the matter?’’ asked Benassis, as La Fosseuse came 
back to them. 

‘Oh! nothing, nothing,’’ she answered. ‘‘I fancied that 
one of my chickens was missing, and had not been shut up.”’ 

Her remark was disingenuous, but this was only noticed 
by the doctor, who said in her ear, ‘‘ You have been crying! i 

«Why do you say things like that to me before some one 
else ?’’ she asked in reply. 





” 


A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 129 


‘« Mademoiselle,’’ said Genestas, ‘‘it is a great pity that 
you live here all by yourself; you ought to have a mate in 
such a charming cage as this.’’ 

‘« That is true,’’ she said, ‘‘ but what would you have? I 
am poor, and I am hard to please. I feel that it would not 
suit me at all to carry the soup out into the fields, nor to push 
a hand-cart ; to feel the misery of those whom I should love, and 
have no power to put an end to it; to carry my children in 
my arms all day, and patch and repatch a man’s rags. The 
curé tells me that such thoughts as these are not very Chris- 
tian; I know that myself, but how can I help it? There are 
days when I would rather eat a morsel of dry bread than cook 
anything for my dinner. Why would you have me worry 
some man’s life out with my failings? He would perhaps 
work himself to death to satisfy my whims, and that would 
not be right. Pshaw! an unluckly lot has fallen to me, and 
I ought to bear it by myself.’’ 

«¢ And besides, she is a born do-nothing,’’ said Benassis. 
‘We must take my poor Fosseuse as we find her. But all that 
she has been saying to you simply means that she has never 
loved as yet,’’ he added, smiling. Then he rose and went 
out on to the lawn for a moment. 

<‘You must be very fond of M. Benassis?’’ asked Genestas. 

‘ Oh! yes, sir; and there are plenty of people hereabouts 
who feel as I do—that they would be glad to do anything 
in the world for him. And yet he who cures other people 
has some trouble of his own that nothing can cure. You are 
his friend, perhaps you know what it is? Who could have 
given pain to such a man, who is the very image of God on 
earth? I know a great many here who think that the corn 
grows faster if he has passed by their field in the morning,’’ 
she remarked to Genestas. 

«¢ And what do you think yourself ?’”’ 

‘¢T, sir? When I have seen him,’’ she seemed to hesitate, 
then she went on, ‘“‘ I am happy all the rest of the day.’’ 

9 


’ 


130 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


She bent her head over her work, and plied her needle with 
unwonted swiftness. 

‘‘Well, has the captain been telling you something about 
Napoleon ?’’ said the doctor, as he came in again. 

‘‘Have you seen the Emperor, sir?’’ cried La Fosseuse, 
gazing at the officer’s face with eager curiosity. 

‘Good gracious!’’ said Genestas, ‘‘ hundreds of times!”’ 

‘*Oh! how I should like to know something about the 
army!”’ 

«¢ Perhaps we will come to take a cup of coffee with you 
to-morrow, and you shall hear something about the army, 
dear child,’’ said Benassis, who laid his hand on her shoulder 
and kissed her brow. ‘‘She is my daughter, you see!’’ he 
added, turning to the commandant; ‘‘ there is something 
wanting in the day, somehow, when I have not kissed her 
forehead.”’ 

La Fosseuse held Benassis’ hand in a tight clasp as she 
murmured, ‘‘Oh! you are very kind !’’ 

They left the house ; but she came after them to see them 
mount. She waited till Genestas was in the saddle, and then 
whispered in Benassis’ ear, ‘‘ Tell me who that gentleman is ?”’ 

‘‘Aha!’’ said the doctor, putting a foot in the stirrup, ‘‘a 
husband for you, perhaps.”’ 

She stood on the spot where they left her, absorbed in 
watching their progress down the steep path; and when they 
came past the end of the garden they saw her already perched 
on a little heap of stones, so that she might still keep them in 
view and give them a last nod of farewell. 

‘‘There is something very unusual about that girl, sir,” 
Genestas said to the doctor when they had left the house far 
behind. 

‘There is, is there not?’’ he answered. ‘‘ Many a time I 
have said to myself that she will make a charming wife, but I 
can only love her as a sister or a daughter, and in no other 
way ; my heart is dead,”’ 


A DOCTOR’S ROUND. 131 


‘¢ Has she any relations?’’ asked Genestas. ‘* What did her 
father and mother do?”’ 

‘Oh, it is quite a long story,’’ answered Benassis. 
<¢ Neither her father nor mother nor any of her relations are 
living. Everything about her down to her name interested 
me. La Fosseuse was born here in the town. Her father, a 
laborer from Saint Laurent du Pont, was nicknamed Le Fos- 
seur, which isno doubt a contraction of fossoyeur, for the office 
of sexton had been in his family time out of mind. All the 
sad associations of the graveyard hang about the name. Here, 
as in some other parts of France, there is an old custom, 
dating from the times of the Latin civilization, in virtue of 
which a woman takes her husband’s name, with the addition 
of a feminine termination, and this girl has been called La 
Fosseuse, after her father. 

‘“*The laborer had married the waiting-woman of some 
countess or other who owns an estate at a distance of a few 
leagues. It was a love-match. Here, as in all country dis- 
tricts, love is a very small element in a marriage. ‘The peasant, 
as a rule, wants a wife who will bear him children, a housewife 
who will make good soup and take it out to him in the fields, 
who will spin and make his shirts and mend his clothes. 
Such a thing had not happened for a long while in a district 
where a young man not unfrequently leaves his betrothed for 
another girl who is richer by three or four acres of land. The 
fate of Le Fosseur and his wife was scarcely happy enough to 
induce our Dauphinois to forsake their calculating habits and 
practical way of regarding things. La Fosseuse, who was a 
very pretty woman, died when her daughter was born, and 
her husband’s grief for his loss was so great that he followed 
her within the year, leaving nothing in the world to his little 
one except an existence whose continuance was very doubtful 
—a mere feeble flicker of a life. A charitable neighbor took 
the care of the baby upon herself, and brought her up till she 
was nine years old. Then the burden of. supporting La Fos- 


, 


132 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


seuse became too heavy for the good woman ; so at the time 
of year when travelers are passing along the roads, she sent 
her charge to beg for her living upon the highways. 

<¢One day the little orphan asked for bread at the countess’ 
chateau, and they kept the child for her mother’s sake. She 
was to be waiting-maid some day to the daughter of the house, 
and was brought up to this end. Her young mistress was 
married five years later ; but meanwhile the poor little thing was 
the victim of all the caprices of wealthy people, whose benefi- 
cence for the most part is not to be depended upon even while 
it lasts. They are generous by fits and starts; sometimes 
patrons, sometimes friends, sometimes masters, in this way 
they falsify the already false position of the poor children in 
whom they interest themselves, and trifle with the hearts, the 
lives, and futures of their protégées, whom they regard very 
lightly. From the first La Fosseuse became almost a com- 
panion to the young heiress; she was taught to read and 
write, and her future mistress sometimes amused herself by 
giving her music lessons. She was treated sometimes as a 
lady’s companion, sometimes as a waiting-maid, and in this 
way they made an incomplete being of her. She acquired a 
taste for luxury and for dress, together with manners ill-suited 
to her real position. She has been roughly schooled by mis- 
fortune since then, but the vague feeling that she is destined 
for a higher lot has not been effaced in her. 

“© A day came at last, however, a fateful day for the poor 
girl, when the young countess (who was married by this time) 
discovered La Fosseuse arrayed in one of her ball dresses, and 
dancing before a mirror. La Fosseuse was no longer anything 
but a waiting-maid, and the orphan girl, then sixteen years 
of age, was dismissed without pity. Her idle ways plunged 
her once more into poverty; she wandered about begging by 
the roadside, and working at times as I have told you. Some- 
times she thought of drowning herself, sometimes also of giv- 
ing herself to the first comer ; she spent most of her time think- 


A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 133 


ing dark thoughts, lying by the side of a wall in the sun, with 
her face buried in the grass, and passers-by would sometimes 
throw a few halfpence to her, simply because she asked them 
for nothing. One whole year she spent in a hospital at An- 
necy after heavy toil in the harvest-field ; she had only under- 
taken the work in the hope that it would kill her, and that so 
she might die. You should hear her when she speaks of 
her feelings and ideas during this time of her life; her simple 
confidences are often very curious. 

««She came back to the little town at last, just about the 
time when I decided to take up my abode in it. I wanted to 
understand the minds of the people beneath my rule; her 
character struck me, and I made a study of it; then when I 
Became aware of her physical infirmities, I determined to 
watch over her. Perhaps in time she may grow accustomed 
to work with her needle, but, whatever happens, I have 
secured her future.’’ 

«« She is quite alone up there! ’’ said Genestas. 

‘“No. One of my herdswomen sleeps in the house,’’ the 
doctor answered. ‘‘ You did not see my farm buildings which 
lie behind the house. They are hidden by the pine-trees. 
Oh! she is quite safe. Moreover, there are no rough fellows 
here in the valley; if any come among us by any chance, I 
send them into the army, where they make excellent soldiers.”’ 

<‘ Poor girl!’ said Genestas. 

‘¢Oh! the folk round about do not pity her at all,’’ said Be- 
nassis; ‘fon the other hand, they think her very lucky; but 
there is this difference between her and the other women, 
God has given strength to them and weakness to her, and 
they do not see that.’’ 

The moment that the two horsemen came out upon the 
road to Grenoble, Benassis stopped with an air of satisfaction ; 
a different view had suddenly opened out before them; he 
foresaw its effect upon Genestas, and wished to enjoy his 
surprise. As far as the eye could see, two green walls sixty 


134 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


feet high rose above a road which was rounded like a garden 
path. The trees had not been cut or trimmed, each one pre- 
served a magnificent palm-branch shape that makes the Lom- 
bard poplar one of the grandest of trees; there they stood a 
natural monument which a man might well be proud of having 
reared. The shadow had already reached one side of the 
road, transforming it into a vast wall of black leaves, but the 
setting sun shone full upon the other side, which stood out in 
contrast, for the young leaves at the tips of every branch had 
been dyed a bright golden hue, and, as the breeze stirred 
through the waving curtain, it gleamed in the light. 

<‘ You must be very happy here !”’ ceed Genestas. ‘The 
sight of this must be all pleasure to you.’ 

‘¢ The love of nature is the only love that does not deceive 
human hopes. There is no disappointment here,’’ said the 
doctor. ‘‘ Those poplars are ten years old; have you ever 
seen any that are better grown than these of mine?” 

‘< God is great!’’ said the soldier, coming to a stand in the 
middle of the road, of which he saw neither beginning nor 
end. 

<< You do me good,” cried Benassis. ‘‘ It was a pleasure to 
hear you say over again what I have so often said in the midst 
of this avenue. There is something holy about this place. 
Here, we are like two mere specks; and the feeling of our 
own littleness always brings us into the presence of God.”’ 

They rode on slowly and in silence, listening to their 
horses’ hoof-beats; the sound echoed along the green cor- 
ridor as it might have done beneath the vaulted roof of a 
cathedral. 

«How many things have a power to stir us which town- 
dwellers do not suspect,’’ said the doctor. ‘‘ Do you notice 
the sweet scent given off by the gum of the poplar buds and 
the resin of the larches? How delightful it is!’ 

‘Listen!’ exclaimed Genestas. ‘‘ Let us wait a moment.” 

A distant sound of singing came to their ears. 


A DOCTORS ROUND. 135 


‘¢Ts it a woman or a man, or is it a bird ?’’ asked the com- 
mandant in alow voice. ‘‘Is it the voice of this wonderful 
landscape ! ”” 

“Tt is something of all these things,’’ the doctor answered, 
as he dismounted and fastened his horse to a branch of a 
poplar tree. 

He made a sign to the officer to follow his example and to 
come with him. They went slowly along a footpath between 
two hedges of blossoming hawthorn which filled the damp 
evening air with its delicate fragrance. The sun shone full 
into the pathway ; the light and warmth were very perceptible 
after the shade thrown by the long wall of poplar trees; the 
still powerful rays poured a flood of red light over a cot- 
tage at the end of the stony track. The ridge of the cottage 
roof was usually a bright green with its overgrowth of mosses 
and house-leeks, and the thatch was brown as a chestnut shell, 
but just now it seemed to be powdered with a golden dust. 
The cottage itself was scarcely visible through the haze of 
light ; the ruinous wall, the doorway and everything about it 
were radiant with a fleeting glory and a beauty due to chance, 
such as is sometimes seen for an instant in a human face, be- 
neath the influence of a strong emotion that brings warmth 
and color into it. Ina life under the open sky and among 
the fields, the transient and tender grace of such moments as 
these draws from us the wish of the apostle who said to Jesus 
Christ upon the mountain, ‘‘ Let us build a tabernacle and 
dwell here.”’ 

The wide landscape seemed at that moment to have found 
a voice whose purity and sweetness equaled its own sweetness 
and purity, a voice as mournful as the dying light in the west 
—for a vague reminder of death is divinely set in the heavens, 
and the sun above gives the same warning that is given here 
on earth by the flowers and the bright insects of aday. There 
is a tinge of sadness about the radiance of sunset, and the 
melody was sad. It was a song widely known in days of yore, 


136 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR, 


a ballad of love and sorrow that once had served to stir the 
national hatred of France for England. Beaumarchais, in a 
later day, had given it back its true poetry by adapting it for 
the French theatre and putting it into the mouth of a page, 
who pours out his heart to his stepmother. Just now it was 
simply the air that rose and fell. There were no words; the 
plaintive voice of the singer touched and thrilled the soul. 

‘Tt is the swan’s song,’’ said Benassis. ‘‘ That voice does 
not sound twice in a century for human ears. Let us hurry ; 
we must put a stop to the singing! The child is killing him- 
self ; it would be cruel to listen to him any longer. Be quiet, 
Jacques! Come, come, be quiet!’’ cried the doctor. 

The music ceased. Genestas stood motionless and over- 
come with astonishment. A cloud had drifted across the sun, 
the landscape and the voice were both mute. Shadow, chill- 
ness, and silence had taken the place of the soft glory of the 
light, the warm breath of the breeze, and the child’s singing. 

‘¢What makes you disobey me ?’’ asked Benassis. ‘‘I shall 
not bring you any more rice pudding nor snail broth! No 
more fresh dates and white bread for you! So you want to 
die and break your poor mother’s heart, do you ?”’ 

Genestas came into a little yard, which was sufficiently clean 

and tidily kept, and saw before him a lad of fifteen, who 
looked as delicate asa woman. His hair was fair but scanty, 
and the color in his face was so bright that it seemed hardly 
natural. He rose up slowly from the bench where he was 
sitting, beneath a thick bush of jessamine and some blossom- 
ing lilacs that were running riot, so that he was almost hidden 
among the leaves. 
‘You know very well,’’ said the doctor, ‘that I told you 
not to talk, not to expose yourself to the chilly evening air, 
and to go to bed as soon as the sun was set. What put it into 
your head to sing?”’ 

“‘ Well! M. Benassis, it was so very warm out here, and 
it is so nice to feel warm! Iam always cold. I felt so happy 


A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 137 


that without thinking I began to try over ‘ Malbrouk goes to 
the Wars,’ just for fun, and then I began to listen to myself 
because my voice was something like the sound of the flute 
your shepherd plays.’’ 

“Well, my poor Jacques, this must not happen again; do 
you hear? Let me have your hand,’”’ and the doctor felt his 
pulse. 

The boy’s eyes had their usual sweet expression, but just 
now they shone with a feverish light. 

“Tt is just as I thought, you are covered with perspiration,”’ 
said Benassis. ‘‘ Your mother has not come in yet ?”’ 

SING Sins. 

“‘Come! go indoors and get into bed.” 

The young invalid went back into the cottage, followed by 
Benassis and the officer. 

** Just light a candle, Captain Bluteau,’’ said the doctor, 
who was helping Jacques to taxe off his rough, tattered 
clothing. 

When Genestas had struck a light, and the interior of the 
room was visible, he was surprised by the extreme thinness of 
the child, who seemed to be little more than skin and bone. 
When the little peasant had been put to bed, Benassis tapped 
the lad’s chest, and listened to the ominous sounds made in 
this way by his fingers; then, after some deliberation, he 
drew back the coverlet over Jacques, stepped back a few paces, 
folded his arms across his chest, and closely scrutinized his 
patient. 

** How do you feel, my little man ?”’ 

** Quite comfortable, sir.’ 

A table, with four spindle legs, stood in the room; the 
doctor drew it up to the bed, found a tumbler and a phial on 
the mantle-shelf, and composed a draught, by carefully meas- 
uring a few drops of brown liquid from the phial into some 
water, Genestas holding the light the while. 

**Your mother is very late.”’ 


138 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


‘‘She is coming, sir,’’ said the child; ‘‘I can hear her 
footsteps on the path.’’ 

The doctor and the officer looked around them while they 
waited. At the foot of the bed there was a sort of mattress 
made of moss, on which, doubtless, the mother was wont to 
sleep in her clothes, for there were neither sheets nor coverlet. 
Genestas pointed out this bed to Benassis, who nodded slightly 
to show that he likewise had already admired this motherly 
devotion. There was a clatter of sabots in the yard, and the 
doctor went out. 

“You will have to sit up with Jacques to-night, Mother 
Colas. If he tells you that his breathing is bad, you must let 
him drink some of the draught that I have poured into the 
tumbler on the table. Take care not to let him have more 
than two or three sips at a time; there ought to be enough in 
the tumbler to last him all through the night. Above all 
things, do not touch the phial, and change the child’s cloth- 
ing at once. He is perspiring heavily.”’ 

“‘T could not manage to wash his shirts to-day, sir; I had 
to take the hemp over to Grenoble, as we wanted the money.’’ 

*¢ Very well, then, I will send you some shirts.’’ 

««' Then is he worse, my poor lad?’’ asked the woman. 

‘* He has been so imprudent as to sing, Mother Colas; and 
it is not to be expected that any good can come of it ; but do 
not be hard upon him, nor scold him. Do not be down- 
hearted about it; and if Jacques complains overmuch, send a 
neighbor to fetch me. Good-bye.”’ 

The doctor called to his friend, and they went back along 
the footpath. — 

“«Ts that little peasant consumptive ?’’ asked Genestas. 

** Mon Dieu! yes,’’ answered Benassis. ‘‘ Science cannot 
save him, unless nature works a miracle. Our professors at 
the School of Medicine in Paris often used to speak to us of 
the phenomenon which you have just witnessed. Some 
maladies of this kind bring about changes in the voice-pro- 
























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A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 139 


ducing organs that give the sufferer a short-lived power of 
song that no trained voice can surpass. I have made you 
spend a melancholy day, sir,’’ said the doctor when he was 
once more in the saddle. ‘‘ Suffering and death everywhere, 
but everywhere also resignation. All these peasant folk take 
death philosophically ; they fall ill, say nothing about it, and 
take to their beds like dumb animals. But let us say no more 
about death, and let us quicken our horses’ paces a little ; we 
ought to reach the town before nightfall, so that you may see 
the new quarter.”’ 

‘‘Eh! some place is on fire over there,’’ said Genestas, 
pointing to a spot on the mountain, where a sheaf of flames 
was rising. 

«<Tt is not a dangerous fire. Our lime-burner is heating his 
kiln, no doubt. It is a newly-started industry, which turns 
our heather to account.”’ 

There was a sudden report of a gun, followed by an 
involuntary exclamation from Benassis, who said, with an 
impatient gesture, ‘‘If that is Butifer, we shall see which of 
us two is the stronger.’’ 

** The shot came from that quarter,’’ said Genestas, indica- 
ting a beechwood up above them on the mountain side. 
“‘ Yes, up there; you may trust an old soldier’s ear.”’ 

‘‘Let us go there at once!’’ cried Benassis, and he made 
straight for the little wood, urging his horse at a furious speed 
across the ditches and fields, as if he were riding a steeple- 
chase, in his anxiety to catch the sportsman red-handed. 

<¢The man you are after has made off,’’ shouted Genestas, 
who could scarcely keep up with him. 

Benassis wheeled his horse round sharply, and came back 
again. ‘The man of whom he was in search soon appeared on 
the top of a perpendicular crag, a hundred feet above the 
level of the two horsemen. 

‘¢ Butifer! ’’ shouted Benassis when he saw that this figure 
carried a fowling-piece ; ‘‘ come down!”’ 


140 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


Butifer recognized the doctor, and replied by a respectful 
and friendly sign which showed that he had every intention 
of obeying. 

«‘T can imagine that if a man were driven to it by fear or 
by some overmastering impulse he might possibly contrive to 
scramble up to that point among the rocks,’’ said Genestas ; 
“< but how will he manage to come down again ?”’ 

‘©T have no anxiety on that score,’’ answered Benassis ; 
‘the wild goats must feel envious of that fellow yonder! 
You will see.’’ 

The emergencies of warfare had accustomed the com- 
mandant to gauge the real worth of men; he admired the 
wonderful quickness of Butifer’s movements, the sure-footed 
grace with which the hunter swung himself down the rugged 
sides of the crag, to the top of which he had so boldly 
climbed. The strong, slender form of the mountaineer was 
gracefully poised in every attitude which the precipitous 
nature of the path compelled him to assume; and so certain 
did he seem of his power to hold on at need that, if the pin- 
nacle of rock on which he took his stand had been a level 
floor, he could not have set his foot down upon it more 
calmly. He carried his fowling-piece as if it had been a light 
walking-cane. Butifer was a young man of middle height, 
thin, muscular, and in good training; his beauty was of a 
masculine order, which impressed Genestas on a closer view. 

Evidently he belonged to the class of smugglers who ply 
their trade without resorting to violent courses, and who only 
exert patience and craft to defraud the government. His face 
was manly and sunburnt. His eyes, which were bright as an 
eagle’s, were of a clear yellow color, and his sharply-cut nose 
with its slight curve at the tip was very much like an eagle’s 
beak. His cheeks were covered with down, his red lips were 
half-open, giving a glimpse of a set of teeth of dazzling 
whiteness. His beard, mustache, and the reddish whiskers, 
which he allowed to grow, and which curled naturally, still 


A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 141 


further heightened the masculine and forbidding expression 
of his face. Everything about him spoke of strength. He 
was broad-chested ; constant activity had made the muscles 
of his hands curiously firm and prominent. There was the 
quick intelligence of a savage about his glances; he looked 
resolute, fearless, and imperturbable, like a man accustomed 
to put his life in peril, and whose physical and mental strength 
had been so often tried by dangers of every kind, that he no 
longer felt any doubts about himself. He wore a blouse that 
had suffered a good deal from thorns and briars, and he had a 
pair of leather soles bound to his feet by eel-skin thongs, and 
a pair of torn and tattered blue linen breeches through which 
his legs were visible, red, wiry, hard, and muscular as those 
of a stag. 

«‘There you see the man who once fired a shot at me,’’ 
Benassis remarked to the commandant, in alow voice. ‘If 
at this moment I were to signify to him my desire to be rid 
of any one, he would kill them without scruple. Butifer,”’ 
he went on, addressing the poacher, ‘‘I fully believed you to 
be a man of your word; I pledged mine for you because I 
had your promise. My promise to the king’s officer at 
Grenoble was based upon your vow never to go poaching 
again, and to turn over a new leaf and become a steady, 
industrious worker. You fired that shot just now, and here 
you are, on the Comte de Labranchoir’s estate! Eh! you 
miscreant ? Suppose his keeper had happened to hear you? 
It is a lucky thing for you that I shall take no formal cog- 
nizance of this offence; if I did, you would come up as an 
old offender, and of course you would have no gun license! 
I let you keep that gun of yours out of tenderness for your 
attachment to the weapon.”’ 

‘“<It is a beauty,’’ said the commandant, who recognized a 
duck gun from Saint Etienne. 

The smuggler raised his head and looked at Genestas by 
way of acknowledging the compliment. 


142 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


‘* Butifer,’? continued Benassis, ‘‘if your conscience does 
not reproach you, it ought to do so. If you are going to 
begin your old tricks again, you will find yourself once more 
in a park enclosed by four stone walls, and no power on 
earth will save you from the hulks; you will be a marked 
man, and your character will be ruined. Bring your gun to 
me to-night, I will take care of it for you.”’ 

Butifer gripped the barrel of his weapon in a convulsive 
clutch, and, after a few moments’ reflection, he raised his 
face to the doctor’s. 

“* You are quite right, sir,’’ he said; ‘‘ I have done wrong. 
I have broken bounds, Iam acur. My gun ought to go to 
you, but when you take it away from me, you take all that I 
have in the world. The last shot which my mother’s son will 
fire shall be through my own head. What would you have ? 
I did as you wanted me. I kept quiet all the winter; but the 
spring came, and the sap rose. I am not used to day labor. 
It is not in my nature to spend my life in fattening fowls; I 
cannot stoop about turning over the soil for vegetables, nor 
flourish a whip and drive a cart, nor scrub down a horse in a 
stable all my life, so I must die of starvation, I suppose. I 
am only happy when I am up there,’’ he went on after a 
pause, pointing to the mountains. ‘‘ And I have been about 
among the hills for the past week ; I got a sight of a chamois, 
and I have the chamois there,’’ he said, pointing to the top 
of the crag; ‘‘it is at your service! Dear M. Benassis, 
leave me my gun. Listen! Iwill leave the commune, on 
my faith! Iwill go to the Alps; the chamois hunters will not 
say a word; on the contrary, they will receive me with open 
arms. I shall come to grief at the bottom of some glacier ; 
but, if I am to speak my mind, I would rather live for a 
couple of years among the heights, where there are no govern- 
ments, nor excisemen, nor gamekeepers, nor procureurs du rot, 
than grovel in a marsh for a century. You are the only one 
that I shall be sorry to leave behind; all the rest of them 





A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 143 


bore me! When you are in the right, at any rate you don’t 


”? 





worry one’s life out 

«¢ And how about Louise ?’’ asked Benassis. Butifer paused 
and turned thoughtful. 

‘‘Eh! learn to read and write, my lad,’’ said Genestas ; 
<©come and enlist in my regiment, have a horse to ride, and 
turn carbineer. If they once sound ‘to horse’ for something 
like a war, you will find out that Providence made you to live 
in the midst of cannon, bullets, and battalions, and they will 
make a general of you.”’ 

‘‘ Ye-es, if Napoleon was back again,’’ answered Butifer. 

“You know our agreement,’’ said the doctor, ‘‘ At the 
second infraction of it, you undertook to go for a soldier. I 
give you six months in which to learn to read and write, and 
then I will look up some young gentleman who wants a sub- 
stitute.”’ 

Butifer looked at the mountains. 

‘‘Oh! you shall not go to the Alps,’’ cried Benassis. ‘‘A 
man like you, a man of his word, with plenty of good stuff 
in him, ought to serve his country and command a brigade, 
and not come to his end trailing after a chamois. The life 
that you are leading will take you straight to the convict’s 
prison. After overfatiguing yourself, you are obliged to 
take a long rest ; and, in the end, you will fall into idle ways 
that will be the ruin of any notions of orderly existence that 
you have ; you will get into the habit of putting your strength 
to bad uses, and you wil] take the law into your own hands. 
I want to put you, in spite of yourself, into the right path.”’ 

“So I am to pine and fret myself to death? I feel suffo- 
cated whenever I am in atown. I cannot hold out for more 
than a day, in Grenoble, when I take Louise there,’’ Butifer 
dejectedly replied. 

‘¢We all have our whims, which we must manage to control, 
or turn them to account for our neighbor’s benefit. But it is 
late, and I am ina hurry. Come to see me to-morrow, and 


? 


~ 


144 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


bring your gun along with you. We will talk this over, my boy. 
Good-bye. Go and sell your chamois in Grenoble.’’ 

The two horsemen went on their way. 

“¢ That is what I call a man,’’ said Genestas. 

‘*A man in a bad way,’’ answered Benassis. ‘‘ But what 
help is there for it? You heard what he said. Is it not 
lamentable to see such fine qualities running to waste? If 
France were invaded by a foreign foe, Butifer at the head of a 
hundred young fellows would keep a whole division busy in 
Maurienne for a month ; but in a time of peace the only outlets 
for his energy are those which set the law at defiance. He 
must wrestle with something ; whenever he is not risking his 
neck he is at odds with society, he lends a helping hand to 
smugglers. ‘The rogue will cross the Rhone, all by himself, 
in a little boat, to take shoes over into Savoy; he makes good 
his retreat, heavy laden as he is, to some inaccessible place 
high up among the hills, where he stays for two days at a 
time, living on dry crusts. In short, danger is as welcome to 
him as sleep would be to anybody else, and by dint of expe- 
rience he has acquired a relish for extreme sensations that has 
totally unfitted him for ordinary life. It vexes me that a man 
like that should take a wrong turn and gradually go to the 
bad, become a bandit, and die on the gallows. But see, cap- 
tain, how our village looks from here! ”’ 

Genestas obtained a distant view of a wide circular space, 
planted with trees, a fountain surrounded by poplars stood in 
the middle of it. Round the enclosure were high banks on 
which a triple line of trees of different kinds were growing ; 
the first row consisted of acacias, the second of Japanese 
varnish trees, and some young elms grew on the highest row 
of all. 

“‘That is where we hold our fair,’’ said Benassis. ‘* That 
is the beginning of the High Street, by those two handsome 
houses that I told you about ; one belongs to the notary, and 
the other to the justice of the peace.”’ 


A DOCTOR'S ROUND. 145 


They came at that moment into a broad road, fairly evenly 
paved with large cobble-stones. There were altogether about 
a hundred new houses on either side of it, and almost every 
house stood in a garden. 

The view of the church with its doorway made a pretty 
termination to this road. Two more roads had been recently 
planned out half-way down the course of the first, and many 
new houses had already been built along them. The town-hall 
stood opposite the parsonage, in the square by the church. As 
Benassis went down the road, women and children and men 
who had just finished their day’s work promptly appeared in 
their doorways to wish him good-evening, the men took off 
their caps, and the little children danced and shouted about 
his horse, as if the animal’s good-nature were as well known 
as the kindness of its master. The gladness was undemonstra- 
tive; there was the instinctive delicacy of all deep feeling 
about it, and it had the same persuasive power. At the sight 
of this welcome it seemed to Genestas that the doctor had been 
too modest in his description of the affection with which he 
was regarded by the people of the district. His truly was a 
sovereignty of the sweetest kind; a right royal sovereignty, 
moreover, for its title was engraven in the hearts of its subjects. 
However dazzling the rays of glory that surround a man, how- 
ever great the power that he enjoys, in his inmost soul he soon 
comes to a just estimate of the sentiments that all external 
action causes for him. He very soon sees that no change has 
been wrought in him, that there is nothing new and nothing 
greater in the exercise of his physical faculties, and discovers 
his own real nothingness. Kings, even should they rule over 
the whole world, are condemned to live in a narrow circle like 
other men. They must even submit to the conditions of their 
lot, and their happiness depends upon the personal impres- 
sions that they receive. But Benassis met with nothing but 
good-will and loyalty throughout the district. 

10 


Til. 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 


«¢ Pray, come in sir!’’ cried Jacquotte. ‘‘A pretty time 
the gentlemen have been waiting for you! It is always the 
way! You always manage to spoil the dinner for me when- 
ever it ought to be particularly good. Everything is cooked 
to death by this time a 

‘©Oh! well, here we are,’’ answered Benassis with a smile. 

The two horsemen dismounted, and ‘ent off to the salon, 
where the guests invited by the doctor were assembled. 

«¢Gentlemen,’’ he said, taking Genestas by the hand, ‘I 
have the honor of introducing to you M. Bluteau, captain of 
a regiment of cavalry stationed at Grenoble—an old soldier, 
who has promised me that he will stay among us for a little 
while.”’ 

Then, turning to Genestas, he presented to him a tall, thin, 
gray-haired man, dressed in black. 

‘‘ This gentleman,”’ said Benassis, ‘‘is M. Dufau, the justice 
of the peace, of whom I have already spoken to you, and who 
has so largely contributed to the prosperity of the commune.”’ 
Then he led his guest up to a pale, slight young man of 
middle height, who wore spectacles, and was also dressed in 
black. ‘‘And this is M. Tonnelet,’’ he went on, ‘‘ M. 
Gravier’s son-in-law, and the first notary who came to live in 
the village.”’ 

The doctor next turned to a stout man, who seemed to be- 
long half to the peasant, half to the middle class, the owner 
of a rough-pimpled but good-humored countenance. 

‘¢ This is my worthy colleague, M. Cambon,’’ he went on, 
“‘the timber merchant, to whom I owe the confidence and 
good-will of the people here. He was one of the promoters 

(146) 





THE NAPOLEON OR LHE- PEOPLE, 147 


of the road which you have admired. I have no need to tell 
you the profession of this gentleman,’’ Benassis added, turn- 
ing to the curate. ‘‘ Here is a man whom no one can help 
loving.”’ 

There was an irresistible attraction in the moral beauty 
expressed by the curé’s countenance, which engrossed Gen- 
estas’ attention. Yet a certain harshness and austerity of 
outline might make M. Janvier’s face seem unpleasing at a 
first glance. His attitude, and his slight, emaciated frame, 
showed that he was far from strong physically, but the un- 
changing serenity of his face bore witness to the profound 
inward peace of the Christian and to the strength that comes 
from purity of heart. Heaven seemed to be reflected in his 
eyes, and the inextinguishable fervor of charity which glowed 
in his heart appeared to shine from them. The gestures that 
he made but rarely were simple and natural, his appeared 
to be a quiet and retiring nature, and there was a modesty 
and simplicity like that of a young girl about his actions. 
At first sight he inspired respect and a vague desire to be ad- 
mitted to his friendship. 

““Ah! M. le Maire,’’ he said, bending as though to escape 
from Benassis’ eulogium. 

Something in the curé’s tones brought a thrill to Genestas’ 
heart, and the two insignificant words uttered by this stranger 
priest plunged him into musings that were almost devout. 

‘*Gentlemen,’’ said Jacquotte, who came into the middle 
of the room, and there took her stand, with her hands on her 
hips, ‘‘ the soup is on the table.’’ 

Invited by Benassis, who summoned each in turn so as to 
avoid questions of precedence, the doctor’s five guests went 
into the dining-room ; and after the curé, in low and quiet 
tones, had repeated a Benedicite, they took their places at table. 
The cloth that covered the table was of that peculiar kind of 
damask linen invented in the time of Henry IV. by the brothers 
Graindorge, the skilful weavers, who gave their name to the 


148 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


heavy fabric so well known to housekeepers. The linen was 
of dazzling whiteness, and fragrant with the scent of the 
thyme that Jacquotte always put in her washtubs. The dinner 
service was of white porcelain, edged with blue, and was 
in perfect order. The decanters were of the old-fashioned 
octagonal kind still in use in the provinces, though they have 
disappeared elsewhere. Grotesque figures had been carved 
on the horn handles of the knives. These relics of ancient 
splendor, which, nevertheless, looked almost new, seemed to 
those who scrutinized them to be in keeping with the kindly 
and open-hearted nature of the master of the house. 

The lid of the soup-tureen drew a momentary glance from 
Genestas ; he noticed that it was surmounted by a group of 
vegetables in high relief, and most skilfully colored after the 
manner of Bernard Palissy, the celebrated sixteenth century 
craftsman. 

There was no lack of character about the group of men 
thus assembled. The powerful heads of Genestas and - 
Benassis contrasted admirably with M. Janvier’s apostolic 
countenance ; and in the same fashion the elderly faces of the 
justice of the peace and the deputy-mayor brought out the 
youthfulness of the notary. Society seemed to be represented 
by these various types. The expression of each one indicated 
contentment with himself and with the present, and a faith in 
the future. M. Tonnelet and M. Janvier, who were still 
young, loved to make forecasts of coming events, for they felt 
that the future was theirs; while the other guests were fain 
rather to turn their talk upon the past. All of them faced 
the things of life seriously, and their opinions seemed to 
reflect a double tinge of soberness, on the one hand, from the 
twilight hues of wellnigh forgotten joys that could never 
more be revived for them; and, on the other, from the gray 
dawn which gave promise of a glorious day. 

“¢ You must have had avery tiring day, sir?’’ said M. Cam- 
bon, addressing the curé. 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 149 


‘¢'Yes, sir,’’ answered M. Janvier, ‘‘the poor crétin and 


Pére Pelletier were buried at different hours.”’ 

«‘ Now we can pull down all the hovels of the old village,”’ 
Benassis remarked to his deputy. ‘‘ When the space on which 
the houses stand has been grubbed up, it will mean at least 
another acre of meadow land for us; and, furthermore, there 
will be a clear saving to the commune of the hundred francs 
that it used to cost to keep Chautard the crétin.”’ 

‘* For the next three years we ought to lay out the hundred 
francs in making a single-span bridge to carry the lower road 
over the main stream,’’ said M. Cambon. ‘‘ The townsfolk 
and the people down the valley have fallen into the way of 
taking a short cut across that patch of land of Jean Francois 
Pastoureau’s ; before they have done they will cut it up ina 
way that will do a lot of harm to that poor fellow.”’ 

*‘T am sure that the money could not be put to a better 
use,’’ said the justice of the peace. ‘‘In my opinion the 
abuse of the right of way is one of the worst nuisances in a 
country district. One-tenth of the cases that come before 
the court are caused by unfair easements. ‘The rights of 
property are infringed in this way almost with impunity in 
many and many acommune. A respect for law and a respect 
for property are ideas too often disregarded in France, and it 
is most important that they should be inculcated. Many 
people think that there is something dishonorable in assisting 
the law to take its course. ‘Go and be hanged somewhere 
else’ is a saying which seems to be dictated by an unpraise- 
worthy generosity of feeling ; but at bottom it is nothing but 
a hypocritical formula—a sort of veil which we throw over 
our own selfishness. Let us own to it, we lack patriotism! 
The true patriot is the citizen who is so deeply impressed with 
a sense of the importance of the laws that he will see them 
carried out even at his own cost and inconvenience. If you 
let the criminal go in peace, are you not making yourself 
answerable for the crimes he will commit ?”’ 


150 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


“It is all of a piece,’’ said Benassis. ‘If the mayors kept 
their roads in better order, there would not be so many foot- 
paths. And if the members of the municipal councils knew 
a little better, they would uphold the small landowner and 
the mayor when the two combine to oppose the establishment 
of unfair easements. The fact that chateau, cottage, field and 
tree are all equally sacred would then be brought home in 
every Way to the ignorant ; they would be made to understand 
that right is just the same in all cases, whether the value of 
the property in question be large or small. But such salutary 
changes cannot be brought about all at once. They depend 
almost entirely on the moral condition of the population, 
which we can never completely reform without the potent aid 
of the curés. This remark does not apply to you in any way, 
M. Janvier.’’ 

“Nor do I take it to myself,’’ laughed the curé. ‘Is not 
my heart set on bringing the teachings of the Catholic reli- 
gion to co-operate with your plans of administration? For 
instance, I have often tried, in my pulpit discourses on theft, 
to imbue the folk of this parish with the very ideas of right 
to which you have just given utterance. For truly, God does 
not estimate theft by the value of the thing stolen, He looks 
at the thief. That has been the gist of the parables which I 
have tried to adapt to the comprehension of my parishion- 
ers.’ 

‘“You have succeeded, sir,’’ said Cambon. ‘I know the 
change you have brought about in people’s ways of looking at 
things, for I can compare the commune as it is now with the 
commune as it used to be. There are certainly very few places 
where the laborers are as careful as ours are about keeping to 
time in their working hours. The cattle are well looked after; 
any damage that they do is done by accident. There is no 
pilfering in the woods, and finally you have made our peasants 
clearly understand that the leisure of the rich is the reward 
of athrifty and hard-working life.’’ 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 151 


‘¢ Well, then,’’ said Genestas, ‘‘ you ought to be pretty well 
pleased with your infantry, M. le Curé.”’ 

‘We cannot expect to find angels anywhere here below, 
captain,’’ answered the priest. ‘‘ Wherever there is poverty, 
there is suffering too; and suffering and poverty are strong 
compelling forces which have their abuses, just as power has. 
When the peasants have a couple of leagues to walk to their 
work, and have to tramp back wearily in the evening, they 
perhaps see sportsmen taking short cuts over ploughed land 
and pasture so as to be back to dinner a little sooner, and is it 
to be supposed that they will hesitate to follow the example ? 
And of those who in this way beat out a footpath such as 
these gentlemen have just been complaining about, which are 
the real offenders, the workers or the people who are simply 
amusing themselves? Both the rich and the poor give usa 
great deal of trouble in these days. Faith, like power, ought 
always to descend from the heights above us, in heaven or on 
earth; and certainly in our times the upper classes have less 
faith in them than the mass of the people, who have God’s 
promise of heaven hereafter as a reward for evils patiently 
endured. With due submission to ecclesiastical discipline, 
and deference to the views of my superiors, I think that for 
some time to come we should be less exacting as to questions 
of doctrine, and rather endeavor to revive the sentiment of 
religion in the hearts of the intermediary classes, who debate 
over the maxims of Christianity instead of putting them in 
practice. The philosophism of the rich has set a fatal ex- 
ample to the poor, and has brought about intervals of too 
long duration when men have faltered in their allegiance to 
God. Such ascendency as we have over our flocks to-day 
depends entirely on our personal influence with them ; is it 
not deplorable that the existence of religious belief in a com- 
mune should be dependent on the esteem in which a single 
man is held? When the preservative force of Christianity 
permeating all classes of society shall have put life into the 


152 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


new order of things, there will be an end of sterile disputes 
about doctrine. The cult of a religion is its form; societies 
only exist by forms. You have your standard, we have the 
cross a 

‘‘T should very much like to know, sir,’’ said Genestas, 
breaking in upon M. Janvier, ‘‘why you forbid these poor 
folk to dance on Sunday ?”’ 

‘We do not quarrel with dancing in itself, captain; it is 
forbidden because it leads to immorality, which troubles the 
peace of the countryside and corrupts its manners. Does not 
the attempt to purify the spirit of the family and to maintain 
the sanctity of family ties strike at the root of the evil?”’ 
contended the curé. 

«¢ Some irregularities are always to be found in every district 
I know,’”’ said M. Tonnelet, ‘‘ but they very seldom occur 
among us. Perhaps there are peasants who remove their 
neighbor’s landmark without much scruple; or they may cut 
a few osiers that belong to some one else, if they happen to 
want some; but these are mere peccadilloes compared with 
the wrongdoing that goes on among a town population. 
Moreover, the people in this valley seem to me to be devoutly 
religious.”’ 

‘¢ Devout ?’’ queried the curé with a smile ; ‘‘ there is no 
fear of fanaticism here.’’ 

«« But,’” objected Cambon, ‘‘if the people all went to mass 
every morning, sir, and to confession every week, how would 
the fields be cultivated? And three priests would hardly be 
enough.”’ 

‘‘Work is prayer,’’ said the curé. ‘‘Doing one’s duty 
brings a knowledge of the religious principles which are a 
vital necessity to society.”’ 

“¢ How about patriotism ?’’ asked Genestas. 

“Patriotism can only inspire a short-lived enthusiasm,’’ 
the curate answered gravely; ‘‘religion gives it permanence. 
Patriotism consists in a brief impulse of forgetfulness of self 





a, 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 153 


and self-interest, while Christianity is a complete system 
of opposition to the depraved tendencies of mankind.”’ 

<‘And yet, during the wars undertaken by the Revolution, 
patriotism ae 

‘‘ Yes, we worked wonders at the time of the Revolution,”’ 
said Benassis, interrupting Genestas ; ‘‘ but only twenty years 
later, in 1814, our patriotism was extinct; while, in former 
times, a religious impulse moved France and Europe to fling 
themselves upon Asia a dozen times in the course of a 
century.’’ 

‘¢ Maybe it is easier for two nations to come to terms when 
the strife has arisen out of some question of material inter- 
ests,’’ said the justice of the peace; ‘‘ while wars undertaken 
with the idea of supporting dogmas are bound to be intermin- 
able, because the object can never clearly be defined.”’ 

‘© Well, sir, you are not helping any one to fish!’’ put in 
Jacquotte, who had removed the soup with Nicolle’s assist- 
ance. Faithful to her custom, Jacquotte herself always 
brought in every dish one after another, a plan which had its 
drawbacks, for it compelled gluttonous folk to overeat them- 
selves, and the more abstemious, having satisfied their hunger 
at an early stage, were obliged to leave the best part of the 
dinner untouched. 

‘‘Gentlemen,’’ said the curé, with a glance at the justice 
of the peace, ‘‘ how can you allege that religious wars have 
had no definite aim? Religion in olden times was such a 
powerful binding force that material interests and religious 
questions were inseparable. Every soldier, therefore, knew 
quite well what he was fighting for.’’ 

“‘Tf there has been so much fighting about religion,’’ said 
Genestas, ‘‘ God must have built up the system very perfunc- 
torily. Should not a divine institution impress men at once 
by the truth that is in it?’’ 

All the guests looked at the curé. 

‘¢Gentlemen,’’ said M. Janvier, ‘‘ religion is something 





154 LHE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


that is felt and that cannot be defined. We cannot know the 
purpose of the Almighty ; we are no judges of the means He 
employs.”’ 

**Then, according to you, we are to believe in all your 
rigmaroles,’’ said Genestas, with the easy good-humor of a 
soldier who has never given a thought to these things. 

““The Catholic religion, better than any other, resolves 
mer.’s doubts and fears ; but even were it otherwise, I might 
ask you if you run any risks Dy believing in its truths?”? 

*¢ None worth speaking of,’’ answered Genestas. 

“Good! and what risks do you not run by not believing? 
But let us talk of the worldly aspect of the matter, which most 
appeals to you. The finger of God is visible in human affairs ; 
see how He directs them by the hand of His vicar on earth. 
How much men have lost by leaving the path traced out for 
them by Christianity! So few think of reading Church his- 
tory, that erroneous notions deliberately sown among the 
people lead them to condemn the Church; yet the Church 
has been a pattern of perfect government such as men seek to 
establish to-day. The principle of election made it for a long 
while a great political power. Except the Catholic Church, 
there was no single religious institution which was founded 
upon liberty and equality. Everything was ordered to this 
end. ‘The father-superior, the abbot, the bishop, the general 
of an order, and the pope were then chosen conscientiously 
for their fitness for the requirements of the Church. They 
were the expression of its intelligence, of the thinking power 
of the Church, and blind obedience was therefore their due. I 
will say nothing of the ways in which society has benefited by 
that power which has created modern nations and has inspired 
sO many poems, so much music, so many cathedrals, statues, 
and pictures. I will simply call your attention to the fact 
that your modern systems of popular election, of two cham- 
bers, and of juries all had their origin in provincial and 
cecumenical councils, and in the episcopate and college of 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 155 


cardinals ; but there is this difference—the views of civiliza- 
tion held by our present-day philosophy seem to me to fade 
away before the sublime and divine conception of Catholic 
communion, the type of a universal social communion brought 
about by the word and the fact that are combined in religious 
dogma. It would be very difficult for any modern political 
system, however perfect people may think it, to work once 
more such miracles as were wrought in those ages when the 
Church was the stay and support of the human intellect.”’ 

‘¢Why?’’ asked Genestas. 

‘« Because, in the first place, if the principle of election is 
to be the basis of a system, absolute equality among the elec- 
tors is a first requirement ; they ought to be ‘ equal quantities,’ 
to make use of a mathematical term, and that is a state of 
things which modern politics will never bring about. ‘Then, 
great social changes can only be effected by means of some 
common sentiment so powerful that it brings men into con- 
certed action, while latter-day philosophism has discovered 
that law is based upon personal interest, which keeps men 
apart. Men full of the generous spirit that watches with 
tender care over the trampled rights of the suffering poor 
were more often found among the nations of past ages than in 
our generation. The priesthood, also, which sprang from the 
middle classes, resisted material forces and stood between the 
people and their enemies. But the territorial possessions of 
the Church and her temporal power, which seemingly made 
her position yet stronger, ended by crippling and weakening 
her action. Asa matter of fact, if the priest has possessions 
and privileges, he at once appears in the light of an oppressor. 
He is paid by the State, therefore he is an official ; if he gives 
his time, his life, his whole heart, this is a matter of course, 
and nothing more than he ought to do; the citizens expect 
and demand his devotion ; and the spontaneous kindliness of 
his nature is dried up. But let the priest be vowed to pov- 
erty, let him turn to his calling of his own free will, let him 


156 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR: 


stay himself on God alone, and have no resource on earth but ! 
the hearts of the faithful, and he becomes once more the 
missionary of America, he takes the rank of an apostle, he has 
all things under his feet. Indeed, the burden of wealth drags 
him down, and it is only by renouncing everything that he 
gains dominion over all men’s hearts.’’ 

M. Janvier had compelled the attention of every one present. 
No one spoke; for all the guests were thoughtful. It was 
something new to hear such words as these in the mouth of a 
simple curé. 

«« There is one serious error, M. Janvier, among the truths 
to which you have given expression,’’ said Benassis. ‘‘ As you 
know, I do not like to raise discussions on points of general 
interest which modern authorities and modern writers have 
called in question. In my opinion, a man who has thought 
out a political system, and who is conscious that he has within 
him the power of applying it in practical politics, should keep 
his mind to himself, seize his opportunity and act; but if he 
dwells in peaceful obscurity as a simple citizen, is it not sheer 
lunacy to think to bring the great mass over to his opinion by 
means of individual discussions? For all that, I am about to 
argue with you, my dear pastor, for I am speaking before sen- 
sible men, each of whom is accustomed always to bring his 
individual light to a common search for the truth. My ideas 
may seem strange to you, but they are the outcome of much 
thought caused by the calamities of the last forty years. 
Universal suffrage, which finds such favor in the sight of those 
persons who belong to the constitutional opposition, as it is 
called, was a capital institution in the Church, because (as you 
yourself have just pointed out, dear pastor) the individuals of 
whom the Church was composed were all well educated, disci- 
plined by religious feeling, thoroughly imbued with the spirit 
of the same system, well aware of what they wanted and 
whither they were going. But modern Liberalism rashly made 
war upon the prosperous government of the Bourbons, by 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 157 


means of ideas which, should they triumph, would be the ruin 
of France and of the Liberals themselves. This is well known 
to the leaders of the Left, who are merely endeavoring to get 
the power into their own hands. If (which heaven forbid) 
the middle classes ranged under the banner of the opposition 
should succeed in overthrowing those social superiorities which 
are so repugnant to their vanity, another struggle would follow 
hard upon their victory. It would not be very long before 
the middle classes in their turn would be looked upon by the 
people as asort of nodlesse ; they would bea sorry kind of 
noblesse, it is true, but their wealth and privileges would seem 
so much the more hateful in the eyes of the people because 
they would have a closer vision of these things. I do not say 
that the nation would come to grief in this struggle, but 
society would perish anew ; for the day of triumph of a suffer- 
ing people is always brief, and involves disorders of the worst 
kind. There would be no truce in a desperate strife arising 
out of an inherent or acquired difference of opinion among 
the electors. The less enlightened and more numerous portion 
would sweep away social inequalities, thanks to a system in 
which votes are reckoned by count and not by weight. Hence 
it follows that a government is never more strongly organized, 
and as a consequence is never more perfect, than when it has 
been established for the protection of privilege of the most 
restricted kind. By privilege I do not at this moment mean 
the old abuses by which certain rights were conceded to a few, 
to the prejudice of the many ; no, I am using it to express the 
social circle of the governing class. ‘The governing class is in 
some sort the heart of the state. But throughout creation 
nature has confined the vital principle within a narrow space, 
in order to concentrate its power; and so it is with the body 
politic. I will illustrate this thought of mine by examples. 
Let us suppose that there are a hundred peers in France, there 
are only one hundred causes of offence. Abolish the peerage, 
and all wealthy people will constitute the privileged class ; 


158 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


instead of a hundred, you will have ten thousand ; instead of 
removing class distinctions, you have merely widened the 
mischief. In fact, from the people’s point of view, the right 
to live without working is in itself a privilege. The unpro- 
ductive consumer is a robber in their eyes. The only work 
that they understand has palpable results; they set no value 
on intellectual labor—the kind of labor which is the principal 
source of wealth tothem. So by multiplying causes of offence 
in this way, you extend the field of battle; the social war 
would be waged on all points instead of being confined 
within a limited circle; and when attack and resistance 
become general, the ruin of a country is imminent. Because 
the rich will always be fewer in number, the victory will be to 
the poor as soon as it comes to actual fighting. I will throw 
the burden of proof on history. 

‘¢ The institution of senatorial privilege enabled the Roman 
Republic to conquer the world. The senate preserved the 
tradition of authority. But when the eguites and the novi 
homines had extended the governing class by adding to the 
numbers of the patricians, the state came to ruin. In spite 
of Sylla, and after the time of Julius Cesar, Tiberius raised it 
into the Roman Empire; the system was embodied in one 
man, and all authority was centred in him, a measure which 
prolonged the magnificent sway of the Roman for several 
centuries. ‘The Emperor had ceased to dwell in Rome when 
the Eternal City fell into the hands of barbarians. When the 
conqueror invaded our country, the Franks who divided the 
land among themselves invented feudal privilege as a safe- 
guard for property. The hundred or the thousand chiefs who 
owned the country established their institutions with a view 
to defending the rights gained by conquest. The duration of 
the feudal system was coexistent with the restriction of 
privilege. But when the /ezdes (an exact translation of the 
word gentlemen) from five hundred became fifty thousand, 
there came a revolution. ‘The governing power was too 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 159 


widely diffused ; it lacked force and concentration ; and they 
had not reckoned with the two powers, money and thought, 
that had set those free who had been beneath their rule. So 
the victory over the monarchical system, obtained by the 
middle classes with a view to extending the number of the 
privileged class, will produce its natural effect—the people 
will triumph in turn over the middle classes. If this trouble 
comes to pass, the indiscriminate right of suffrage bestowed 
upon the masses will be a dangerous weapon in their hands. 
The man who votes, criticises. An authority that is called in 
question is no longer an authority. Can you imagine a 
society without a governing authority? No, you cannot. 
Therefore, authority means force, and a basis of just judg- 
ment should underlie force. Such are the reasons which have 
led me to think that the principle of popular election is a 
most fatal one for modern governments. I think that my 
attachment to the poor and suffering classes has been suffi- 
ciently proved, and that no one will accuse me of bearing 
any ill-will towards them; but though I admire the sublime 
patience and resignation with which they tread the path of 
toil, I must pronounce them to be unfit to take part in the 
government. The proletariats seem to me to be the minors of 
a nation, and ought to remain in a condition of tutelage. 
Therefore, gentlemen, the word e/ectton, to my thinking, is in 
a fair way to cause as much mischief as the words comscrence 
and /derty, which, illy defined and illy understood, were flung 
broadcast among the people, to serve as watchwords of revolt 
and incitements to destruction. It seems to me to be a right 
and necessary thing that the masses should be kept in tutelage 
for the good of society.’’ 

“This system of yours runs so cleanly contrary to every- 
body’s notions nowadays that we have some right to ask your 
reasons for it,’’ said Genestas, interrupting the doctor. 

‘¢ By all means, captain.”’ 

‘¢ What is this the master is saying ?’’ cried Jacquotte, as 


160 THE COUNTRY) DOCTOR, 


she went back to her kitchen. ‘‘ There he is, the poor, dear 
man, and what is he doing but advising them to crush the 
people! And they are listening to him nf 

‘“T would never have believed it of M. Benassis,’’ answered 
Nicolle. 

‘‘Tf I require that the ignorant masses should be governed 
by a strong hand,’’ the doctor resumed, after a brief pause, 
“‘T should desire at the same time that the framework of the 
social system should be sufficiently yielding and elastic to 
allow those who have the will and are conscious of their ability 
to emerge from the crowd, to rise and take their place among 
the privileged classes. The aim of power of every kind is its 
own preservation. In order to live, a government, to-day as 
in the past, must press the strong men of the nation into its 
service, taking them from every quarter, so as to make them 
its defenders, and to remove from among the people the men 
of energy who incite the masses to insurrection. By opening 
out in this way to the public ambition paths that are at once 
difficult and easy, easy for strong wills, difficult for weak or 
imperfect ones, a state averts the perils of the revolutions 
caused by the struggles of men of superior powers to rise to 
their proper level. Our long agony of forty years should have 
made it clear to any man who has brains that social superiori- 
ties are a natural outcome of the order of things. They are 
of ihree kinds that cannot be questioned—the superiority of 
the thinker, the superiority of the politician, the superiority 
of wealth. Is not that as much as to say genius, power, and 
money, or, in yet other words—the cause, the means, and the 
effect ? But suppose a kind of social white tablet, every social 
unit perfectly equal, an increase of population everywhere in 








the same ratio, and give the same amount of land to each 
family ; it would not be long before you would again have all 
the existing inequalities of fortune; it is glaringly evident, 
therefore, that there are such things as superiority of fortune, 
of thinking capacity, and of pewer, and we must make up our 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 161 


minds to this fact; but the masses will always regard rights 
that have been most honestly acquired as privileges, and as a 
wrong done to themselves. 

“The soctal contract founded upon this basis will be a per- 
petual pact between those who have and those who have not. 
And acting on these principles, those who benefit by the laws 
will be the lawmakers, for they necessarily have the instinct 
of self-preservation, and foresee their dangers. It is even 
more to their interest than to the interest of the masses them- 
selves that the latter should be quiet and contented. The 
happiness of the people should be ready made for the people. 
If you look at society as a whole from this point of view, you 
will soon see, as I do, that the privilege of election ought only 
to be exercised by men who possess wealth, power, or intelli- 
gence, and you will likewise see that the action of the deputies 
they may choose to represent them should be considerably 
restricted. 

“‘ The maker of laws, gentlemen, should be in advance of 
his age. It is his business to ascertain the tendency of 
erroneous notions popularly held, to see the exact direction in 
which the ideas of a nation are tending; he labors for the 
future rather than for the present, and for the rising genera- 
tion rather than for the one that is passing away. But if you 
call in the masses to make the laws, can they rise above their 
own level? Nay. ‘The more faithfully an assembly repre- 
sents the opinions held by the crowd, the less it will know 
about government, the less lofty its ideas will be, and the 
more vague and vacillating its policy, for the crowd is and 
always will be simply a crowd, and this especially with us in 
France. Law involves submission to regulations; man is 
naturally opposed to rules and regulations of all kinds, 
especially if they interfere with his interests; so is it likely 
that the masses will enact laws that are contrary to their own 
inclinations? No. 

““Very often legislation ought to run counter to the pre- 

ait 


162 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


vailing tendencies of the time. If the lawis to be shaped by 
the prevailing habits of thought and tendencies of a nation, 
would not that mean that in Spain a direct encouragement 
would be given to idleness and religious intolerance ; in Eng- 
land, to the commercial spirit; in Italy, to the love of the 
arts that may be the expression of society, but by which no 
society can entirely exist; in Germany, feudal class distinc- 
tions would be fostered ; and here, in France, popular legisla- 
tion would promote the spirit of frivolity, the sudden craze for 
an idea, and the readiness to split into factions, which has 
always been our bane? 

‘What has happened in the forty years since the electors 
took it upon themselves to make laws for France? We have 
something like forty thousand laws! <A people with forty 
thousand laws might as well have none at all. Is it likely 
that five hundred mediocrities (for there are never more than 
a hundred great minds to do the work of any one century), 
is it likely that five hundred mediocrities will have the wit to 
rise to the level of these considerations? Not they! Here 
is a constant stream of men poured forth from five hundred 
different places; they will interpret the spirit of the law in 
divers manners, and there should be a unity of conception in 
the law. . 

“But I will go yet further. Sooner or later an assembly 
of this kind comes to be swayed by one man, and instead of 
a dynasty of kings, you have a constantly changing and costly 
succession of prime ministers. There comes a Mirabeau, or a 
Danton, a Robespierre, or a Napoleon, or proconsuls, or an 
emperor, and there is an end of deliberations and debates. 
In fact, it takes a determinate amount of force ,to raise a given 
weight ; the force may be distributed, and you may have a 
less or greater number of levers, but it comes to the same 
thing in the end, the force must be in proportion to the 
weight. The weight in this case is the ignorant and suffering 
mass of people who form the lowest stratum of society. The 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 163 


attitude of authority is bound to be repressive, and great con- 
centration of the governing power is needed to neutralize the 
force of a popular movement. This is the application of a 
principle that I unfolded when I spoke just now of the way 
in which the class privileged to govern should be restricted. 
If this class is composed of men of ability, they will obey 
this natural law, and compel the country to obey. If you 
collect a crowd of mediocrities together, sooner or later they 
will fall under the dominion of a stronger head. A deputy 
of talent understands the reasons for which a government 
exists ; the mediocre deputy simply comes to terms with force. 
An assembly either obeys an idea, like the Convention in the 
time of the Terror; a powerful personality, like the Corps 
Legislatif under the rule of Napoleon; or falls under the 
domination of a system or of wealth, as it has done in our own 
day. The Republican Assembly, that dream of some inno- 
cent souls, is an impossibility. Those who would fain bring 
it to pass are either grossly deluded dupes or would-be tyrants. 
Do you not think that there is something ludicrous about an 
assembly which gravely sits in debate upon the perils of a 
nation which ought to be roused into immediate action? It 
is only right of course that the people should elect a body of 
representatives who will decide questions of supplies and of 
taxation ; this institution has always existed, under the sway 
of the most tyrannous ruler no less than under the sceptre of 
the mildest of princes. Money is not to be taken by force ; 
there are natural limits to taxation, and if they are over- 
stepped, a nation either rises up in revolt or lays itself down to 
die. Again, if this elective body, changing from time to time, 
according tothe needs and ideas of those whom it represents, 
should refuse obedience to a bad law in the name of the peo- 
ple, well and good. But to imagine that five hundred men, 
drawn from every corner of the kingdom, will make a good 
law! Is it nota dreary joke, for which the people will sooner or 
later have to pay? They havea change of masters, that is all. 


164 THEY COUNLRY DOCTOR 


‘¢ Authority ought to be given to one man, he alone should 
have the task of making the laws; and he should be a man 
who, by force of circumstances, is continually obliged to 
submit his actions to general approbation. But the only 
restraints that can be brought to bear upon the exercise of 
power, be it the power of the one, of the many, or of the 
multitude, are to be found in the religious institutions of 
a country. Religion forms the only adequate safeguard 
against the abuse of supreme power. When a nation ceases 
to believe in religion, it becomes ungovernable in consequence, 
and its prince perforce becomes a tyrant. The chambers that 
occupy an intermediate place between rulers and their subjects 
are powerless to prevent these results, and can only mitigate 
them to a very slight extent ; assemblies, as I have said before, 
are bound to become the accomplices of tyranny on the one 
hand, or of insurrection on the other. My own leanings are 
towards a government by one man; but though it is good, it 
cannot be absolutely good, for the results of every policy will 
always depend upon the condition and the beliefs of the 
nation. If a nation is in its dotage, if it has been corrupted 
to the core by philosophism and the spirit of discussion, it is 
on the high road to despotism, from which no form of free 
government will save it. And, at the same time, a righteous 
people will nearly always find liberty even under a despotic 
rule. All this goes to show the necessity for restricting the 
right of election within very narrow limits, the necessity for 
a strong government, the necessity for a powerful religion 
which makes the rich man the friend of the poor, and enjoins 
upon the poor an absolute submission to their lot. It is, in 
fact, really imperative that the assemblies should be deprived 
of all direct legislative power, and should confine themselves 
to the registration of laws and to questions of taxation. 

‘‘T know that different ideas from these exist in many 
minds. ‘To-day, as in past ages, there are enthusiasts who 
seek for perfection, and who would like to have society better 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 165 


ordered than it is at present. But innovations which tend to 
bring about a kind of social topsy-turvydom, ought only to 
be undertaken by general consent. Let the innovators have 
patience. When I remember how long it has taken Chris- 
tianity to establish itself; how many centuries it has taken to 
bring about a purely moral revolution which surely ought 
to have been accomplished peacefully, the thought of the 
horrors of a revolution, in which material interests are con- 
cerned, makes me shudder, and I am for maintaining existing 
institutions. ‘Each shall have his own thought’ is the dic- 
tum of Christianity ; ‘Each man shall have his own field’ 
says modern law ; and in this, modern law is in harmony with 
Christianity. Each shall have his own thought; that is a 
consecration of the rights of intelligence; and each shall 
have his own field is a consecration of the right to property 
that has been acquired by toil. Hence our society. Nature 
has based human life upon the instinct of self-preservation, 
and social life is founded upon personal interest. Such ideas 
as these are, to my thinking, the very rudiments of politics. 
Religion keeps these two selfish sentiments in subordination 
by the thought of a future life; and in this way the harshness 
of the conflict of interests has been somewhat softened. God 
has mitigated the sufferings that arise from social friction by a 
religious sentiment which raises self-forgetfulness into a virtue ; 
just as He has moderated the friction of the mechanism of the 
universe by laws which we do not know. Christianity bids 
the poor bear patiently with the rich, and commands the rich 
to lighten the burdens of the poor; these few words, to my 
mind, contain the essence of all laws, human and divine!”’ 
‘‘T am no statesman,”’ said the notary ; ‘“I see in arulera 
liquidator of society which should always remain in liquida- 
tion; he should hand over to his successor the exact value of 
the assets which he received.”’ ; 
‘*T am no statesman either,’’ said Benassis, hastily inter- 
rupting the notary. ‘‘It takes nothing but a little common 


166 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


sense to better the lot of a commune, of a canton, or of an 
even wider district ; a department calls for some administra- 
tive talent, but all these four spheres of action are compara- 
tively limited, the outlook is not too wide for ordinary powers 
of vision, and there is a visible connection between their 
interests and the general progress made by the state. 

‘* But in yet higher regions, everything is on a larger scale, 
the horizon widens, and from the standpoint where he is 
placed, the statesman ought to grasp the whole situation. It 
is only necessary to consider liabilities due ten years hence, 
in order to bring about a great deal of good in the case of the 
department, the district, the canton, or the commune; but 
when it is a question of the destinies of a nation, a statesman 
must foresee a more distant future and the course that events 
are likely to take for the next hundred years. The genius of 
a Colbert or of a Sully avails nothing, unless it is supported 
by the energetic will that makes a Napoleon or a Cromwell. 
A great minister, gentlemen, is a great thought written at 
large over all the years of a century of prosperity and 
splendor for which he has prepared the way. Steadfast per- 
severance is the virtue of which he stands most in need; and 
in all human affairs does not steadfast perseverance indicate a 
power of the very highest order? We have had for some 
time past too many men who think only of the ministry 
instead of the nation, so that we cannot but admire the real 
statesman as the sublimest of human poetry. Ever to look 
beyond the present moment, to foresee the ways of destiny, to 
care so little for power that he only retains it because he is 
conscious of his usefulness, while he does not overestimate 
his strength ; ever to lay aside all personal feeling and low 
ambitions, so that he may always be master of his faculties, 
and foresee, will, and act without ceasing ; to compel himself 
to -be just and impartial, to keep order on a large scale, to 
silence his heart that he may be guided by his intellect alone, 
to be neither apprehensive nor sanguine, neither suspicious 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 167 


nor confiding, neither grateful nor ungrateful, never to be 
unprepared for an event, nor taken unawares by an idea; to 
live, in fact, with the requirements of the masses ever in his 
mind; to spread the protecting wings of his thought above 
them, to sway them by the thunder of his voice and the keen- 
ness of his glance ; seeing all the while not the details of 
affairs, but the great issues at stake, is not that to be some- 
thing more than a mere man? Therefore the names of the 
great and noble fathers of nations cannot but be household 
words for ever.”’ 

There was silence for a moment, during which the guests 
looked at one another. 

‘¢Gentlemen, you have not said a word about the army,”’ 
cried Genestas. ‘‘A military organization seems to me to be 
the real type on which all good civil society should be 
modeled ; the sword is the guardian of a nation.’’ 

The justice of the peace laughed softly. 

‘«Captain,’’ he said, ‘* an old lawyer once said that empires 
began with the sword and ended with the desk; we have 
reached the desk stage by this time.”’ 

‘“¢ And now that we have settled the fate of the world, 
gentlemen, let us change the subject. Come, captain, a glass 
of Hermita.je,’’ cried the doctor, laughing. 

‘¢Two, rather than one,’’ said Genestas, holding out his 
glass. ‘‘I mean to drink them both to your health—to a man 
who does honor to the species.’’ 

‘¢ And who is dear to all of us,’ 


’ said the curé in gentle 


tones. 
“*Do you mean to force me into the sin of pride, M. 
Janvier ?”’ 


*¢M. le curé has only said in a low voice what all the can- 
ton says aloud,’’ said Cambon. 

**Gentlemen, I propose that we take a walk to the parson- 
age by moonlight, and see M. Janvier home,”’ said the justice 
of the peace, rising from the table. 


168 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


‘‘Let us start,’’ said the guests, and they prepared to ac- 
company the curé. 

“¢ Shall we go to the barn? ”’ said the doctor, laying a hand 
on Genestas’ arm. ‘They had taken leave of the curé’and the 
other guests. ‘‘ You will hear them talking about Napoleon, 
Captain Bluteau. Goguelat, the postman, is there, and there 
are several of his cronies who are sure to draw him out on the 
subject of the idol of the people. Nicolle, my stableman, has 
set a ladder so that we can climb up on the hay; there is a 
place from which we can look down on the whole scene. 
Come along, an up-sitting is something worth seeing, believe 
me. It will not be the first time that I have hidden in the 
hay to overhear a soldier’s tales or the stories that peasants 
tell among themselves. We must be careful to keep out of 
sight though, as these good folk turn shy and put on company 
manners as soon as they see a stranger,’’ suggested Benassis, 
as they proceeded towards the barn. 

“Eh! my dear sir,’’ said Genestas, ‘‘ have I not often pre- 
tended to be asleep so as to hear my troopers talking out on 
bivouac? My word, I once heard a droll yarn reeled off by 
an old quartermaster for some conscripts who were afraid of 
war ; I never laughed so heartily in any theatre in Paris. He 
was telling them about the retreat from Moscow ; he told them 
that the army had nothing but the clothes they stood up in, 
that their wine was iced, that the dead stood stock-still in the 
road just where they were, that they had seen White Russia, and 
that they currycombed the horses there with their teeth, that 
those who were fond of skating had fine times of it, and people 
who had a fancy for savory ices had as much as they could put 
away, that the women were generally poor company, but that 
the only thing they could really complain of was the want of 
hot water for shaving. In fact, he told them such a pack of 
absurdities that even an old quartermaster who had lost his 
nose with a frostbite, so that they had dubbed him Nosey, 
was fain to laugh.”’ 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 169 


‘‘Hush!’’ said Benassis, ‘‘ here we are. I will go first ; 
follow after me.”’ 

Both of them scaled the ladder and hid themselves in the 
hay, in a place whence they could have a good view of the 
party below, who had not heard a sound overhead. Little 
groups of women were clustered about three or four candles. 
Some of them sewed, others were spinning, while a few of 
them were doing nothing, and sat with their heads stretched 
forward, and their eyes fixed on an old peasant who was tell- 
ing astory. ‘The men were standing about for the most part, 
or lying at full length on the trusses of hay. Every group 
was absolutely silent. Their faces were barely visible by the 
flickering gleams of the candles by which the women were 
working, although each candle was surrounded by a glass 
globe filled with water, in order to concentrate the light. 
The thick darkness and shadow that filled the roof and all the 
upper part of the barn seemed still further to diminish the 
light that fell here and there upon the workers’ heads with 
such picturesque effects of light and shade. Here, it shone 
full upon the bright wondering eyes and brown forehead of a 
little peasant maiden ; and there the straggling beams brought 
out the outlines of the rugged brows of some of the older men, 
throwing up their figures in sharp relief against the dark back- 
ground, and giving a fantastic appearance to their worn and 
weather-stained garb. The attentive attitude of all these 
people and the expression on all their faces showed that they 
had given themselves up entirely to the pleasure of listening, 
and that the narrator’s sway was absolute. It was a curious 
scene. The immense influence that poetry exerts over every 
mind was plainly to be seen. For is not the peasant who 
demands that the tale of wonder should be simple, and that 
the impossible should be wellnigh credible, a lover of poetry 
of the purest kind ? 

“¢ She did not like the looks of the house at all,’’ the peasant 
was saying as the two newcomers took their places where they 


170 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


could overhear him; ‘‘ but the poor little hunchback was so 
tired out with carrying her bundle of hemp to market that 
she went in; besides, the night had come, and she could go 
no further. She only asked to be allowed to sleep there, and 
ate nothing but a crust of bread that she took from her wallet. 
And inasmuch as the woman who kept house for the brigands 
knew nothing about what they had planned to do that night, 
she let the old woman into the house, and sent her upstairs 
without a light. Our hunchback throws herself down ona 
rickety truckle bed, says her prayers, thinks about her hemp, 
and is dropping off to sleep. But before she is fairly asleep, 
she hears a noise, and in walk two men carrying a lantern, 
and each man had a knife in his hand. Then fear came upon 
her ; for in those times, look you, they used to make patés of 
human flesh for the seigneurs, who were very fond of them. 
But the old woman plucked up heart again, for she was so 
thoroughly shriveled and wrinkled that she thought they 
would think her a poorish sort of diet. The two men went 
past the hunchback and walked up to a bed that there was in 
the great room, and in which they had put the gentleman 
with the big portmanteau, the one that passed for a ‘negro- 
mancer.” ‘The taller man holds up the lantern and takes the 
gentleman by the feet, and the short one, that had pretended to 
be drunk, clutches hold of his head and cuts his throat, clean, 
with one stroke, swish! Then they leave the head and body 
lying in its own blood up there, steal the portmanteau, and 
go downstairs with it. Here is our woman in a nice fix! 
First of all she thinks of slipping out before any one can 
suspect it, not knowing that Providence had brought her there 
to glorify God and to bring down punishment on the mur- 
derers. She was in a great fright, and when one is frightened 
one thinks of nothing else. But the woman of the house had 
asked the two brigands about the hunchback, and that had 
alarmed them. So back they come, creeping softly up the 
wooden staircase. The poor hunchback curls up in a ball 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 171 


with fright, and she hears them talking about her in low 
whispers. 

‘¢< Kill her, I tell you.’ 

<*« No need to kill her.’ 

<¢¢ Kill her!’ 

See Not? 

‘Then they come in. The woman, who was no fool, shuts 
her eyes and pretends to be asleep. She sets to work to sleep 
like a child, with her hand on her heart, and takes to breath- 
ing like a cherub. ‘The man opens the lantern and shines the 
light straight into the eyes of the sleeping old woman—she 
does not move an eyelash, she is in such terror for her neck. 

«¢“She is sleeping like a log; you can see that quite well,’ 
so says the tall one. 

«¢« Old women are so cunning!’ answers the short man. ‘1 
will kill her. We shall feel easier in our minds. Besides, we 
will salt her down to feed the pigs.’ 

‘©The old woman hears all this talk, but she does not stir. 

‘¢¢Oh! it is all right, she is asleep,’ says the short ruffian, 
when he saw that the hunchback had not stirred. 

<¢ That is how the old woman saved her life. And she may 
be fairly called courageous ; for it is a fact that there are not 
many girls here who could have breathed like cherubs while 
they heard that going on about the pigs. Well, the two brig- 
ands set to work to lift up the dead man; they wrap him 
round in the sheets and chuck him out into the little yard ; 
and the old woman hears the pigs scampering up to eat him, 
and grunting, Hon / hon / 

‘¢So when morning comes,’’ the narrator resumed after a 
pause, ‘‘ the woman gets up and goes down, paying a couple 
of sous for her bed. She takes up her wallet, goes on just as 
if nothing had happened, asks for the news of the countryside, 
and gets away in peace. She wantstorun. Running is quite 
out of the question, her legs fail her for fright ; and lucky it 
was for her that she could not run, for this reason: She had 


172 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


barely gone half a quarter of a league before she sees one of 
the brigands coming after her, just out of craftiness to make 
quite sure that she had seen nothing. She guesses this, and 
sits herself down on a boulder. 

«¢¢ What is the matter, good woman?’ asks the short one, 
for it was the shorter one and the wickeder of the two who 
was dogging her. , 

‘¢¢Qh! master,’ says she, ‘my wallet is so heavy, and I 
am so tired, that I badly want some good man to give me his 
arm * (sly thing, only listen to her!) ‘if Iam to get back to 
my poor home.’ 

‘¢ Thereupon the brigand offers to go along with her, and 
she accepts his offer. The fellow takes hold of her arm to see 
if she is afraid. Not she! She does not tremble a bit, and 
walks quietly along. So there they are, chatting away as nicely 
as possible, all about farming, and the way to grow hemp, till 
they come to the outskirts of the town, where the hunchback 
lived, and the brigand made off for fear of meeting some of 
the sheriff’s people. The woman reached her house at mid- 
day, and waited there till her husband came home; she 
thought and thought over all that had happened on her journey 
and during the night. The hemp-grower came home in the 
evening. He was hungry; something must be got ready for 
him to eat. So while she greases her frying-pan, and gets 
ready to fry something for him, she tells him how she sold her 
hemp, and gabbles away as females do, but not a word does 
she say about the pigs, nor about the gentleman who was mur- 
dered and robbed and eaten. She holds her frying-pan in the 
flames so as to clean it, draws it out again to give it a wipe, 
and finds it full of blood. 

«< «What have you been putting into it?’ says she to her man. 

‘“«“« Nothing,’ says he. 

‘« She thinks it must have been a nonsensical piece of woman’s 
fancy, and puts her frying-pan into the fire again. Bang! 
A head comes tumbling down the chimney! 





THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 173 


“¢*Oh! look! It is nothing more nor less than the dead 
man’s head,’ says the old woman. ‘ How he stares at me! 
What does he want!’ 

“<< Vou must avenge me!’ says a voice. 

«¢ «What an idiot you are!’ said the hemp-grower. ‘ Always 
seeing something or other that has no sort of sense about it! 
Just you all over.’ 

‘¢ He takes up the head, which snaps at his finger, and pitches 
it out into the yard. 

“*«Get on with my omelette,’ he says, ‘and do not bother 
yourself about that. ’Tis a cat.’ 

“¢¢ A cat!’ says she; ‘it was as round as a ball.’ 

‘«She puts back her frying-pan on the fire. 
Down comes a leg this time, and they go through the whole 
story again. ‘The man was no more astonished at the leg 
than he had been at the head; he snatched up the leg and 
also threw it out the door. Before they had finished, the other 
leg, both arms, the body, the whole murdered traveler, in 
fact, came down piecemeal. No omelette allthis time! The 
old hemp-seller grew very hungry indeed. 

«¢ «By my salvation !’ said he, ‘when once my omelette is 
made we will see about satisfying that man yonder.’ 

«©«So you admit, now, that it was a man ?’ said the hunch- 
back wife. ‘What made you say that it was not a head a 
minute ago, you great worry ?’ 

*¢ The woman breaks the eggs, fries the omelette, and dishes 
it up without any more grumbling; somehow this squabble 
began to make her feel very uncomfortable. Her husband 
sits down and begins to eat. The hunchback was frightened, 
and said that she was not hungry. 

“Tap! tap!’ There was a stranger rapping at the door. 

«© Who is there ?.’ 

‘© «The man that died yesterday !’ 

“¢¢ Come in,’ answers the hemp-grower. 

‘<So the traveler comes in, sits himself down on a three. 





Bang! 


174 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


legged stool, and says: ‘ Are you mindful of God, who gives 
eternal peace to those who confess His name? Woman! 
You saw me done to death, and you have said nothing! I 
have been eaten bythe pigs! The pigs do not enter Paradise, 
and therefore I, a Christian man, shall go down into hell, all 
because a woman forsooth will not speak, a thing that has 
never been known before. You must deliver me,’ and so on, 
and so on. 

“‘The woman, who was more and more frightened every 
minute, cleaned her frying-pan, put on her Sunday clothes, 
went to the justice, and told him about the crime, which was 
brought to light, and the robbers were broken on the wheel 
in proper style in the market-place. This good work accom- 
plished, the woman and her husband always had the finest 
hemp you ever set eyes on. Then, which pleased them still 
better, they had something that they had wished for for a 
long time, to wit, a man-child, who in course of time became 
a great lord of the king. 

‘¢That is the true story of ‘The Courageous Hunchback 
Woman.’”’ 

«<T do not like stories of that sort ; they make me dream 
at night,’’ said La Fosseuse. ‘‘ Napoleon’s adventures are 
much nicer, I think.’’ 

«« Quite true,’’ said the keeper. ‘‘ Come now, M. Goguelat, 
tell us about the Emperor.”’ 

«<The evening is too far gone,’’ said the postman, ‘‘and I 
do not care about cutting short the story of a victory.’’ 

«¢ Never mind, let us hear about it all the same! We know 
the stories, for we have heard you tell them many a time ; but 
it is always a pleasure to hear them.”’ 

<¢ Tell us about the Emperor! ’’ cried several voices at once. 

“You will have it?’’ answered Goguelat. ‘‘ Very good, 
but you will see that there is no sense in the story when it is 
gone through at a gallop. I would rather tell you all about a 
single battle. Shall it be Champ-Aubert, where we ran out 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 175 


of cartridges, and furbished them just the same with the 
bayonet ?”’ 

‘© No, the Emperor! the Emperor !’’ 

The old infantry man got up from his truss of hay and 
glanced round about on those assembled, with the peculiar 
sombre expression in which may be read all the miseries, 
adventures, and hardships of an old soldier’s career. He 
took his coat by the two skirts in front, and raised them, as 
if it were a question of once more packing up the knapsack 
in which his kit, his shoes, and all he had in the world used 
to be stowed ; for a moment he stood leaning all his weight 
on his left foot, then he swung the right foot forward, and 
yielded with a good grace to the wishes of his audience. He 
swept his gray hair to one side, so as to leave his forehead 
bare, and flung back his head and gazed upwards, as if to 
raise himself to the lofty height of the gigantic story that he 
was about to tell. 

“‘Napoleon, you see, my friends, was born in Corsica, 
which is a French island warmed by the Italian sun ; it is like 
a furnace there, everything is scorched up, and they keep on 
killing each other from father to son for generations all about 
nothing at all—’tis a notion they have. To begin at the 
beginning, there was something extraordinary about the thing 
from the first ; it occurred to his mother, who was the hand- 
somest woman of her time, and a shrewd soul, to dedicate 
him to God, so that he should escape all the dangers of infancy 
and of his after-life ; forshe had dreamed that the world was on 
fire on the day he was born. It was a prophecy! So she asked 
God to protect him, on condition that Napoleon should re- 
establish His holy religion, which had been thrown to the 
ground just then. That was the agreement; we shall see what 
came of it. 

<‘Now, do you follow me carefully, and tell me whether 
what you are about to hear is natural. 

‘“<It is certain sure that only a man who had had imagina- 


176 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


tion enough to make a mysterious compact would be capable 
of going further than anybody else, and of passing through 
volleys of grapeshot and showers of bullets which carried us 
off like flies, but which had a respect for his head. I myself had 
particular proof of that at Eylau. I see him yet; he climbs a 
hillock, takes his field-glass, looks along our lines, and says, 
‘That is going on all right.” One of your deep fellows, with 
a bunch of feathers in his cap, used to plague him a good 
deal from all accounts, following him about everywhere, even 
when he was getting his meals. This fellow wants to do some- 
thing clever, so as soon as the Emperor goes away he takes 
his place. Oh! swept away ina moment! And that is the 
last of the bunch of feathers! You understand quite clearly 
that Napoleon had undertaken to keep his secret to himself. 
That is why those who accompanied him, and even his especial 
friends, used to drop like nuts: Duroc, Bessiéres, Lannes— 
men as strong as bars of steel, which he cast into shape for 
his own ends. And here is a final proof that he was the child 
of God, created to be the soldier’s father ; for no one ever 
saw him as a lieutenant or acaptain. He is a commandant 
straight off! Ah! yes, indeed! He did not look more than 
four-and-twenty, but he was an old general ever since the 
taking of Toulon, when he made a beginning by showing the 
rest that they knew nothing about handling cannon. The 
next thing he does he tumbles upon us. A little slip of a 
general-in-chief of the army of Italy, which had neither bread 
nor ammunition nor shoes nor clothes—a wretched army as 
naked as a worm. 

<<< Friends,’ he said, ‘here we all are together. Now, get 
it well into your pates that in a fortnight’s time from now you 
will be the victors, and dressed in new clothes; you shall all 
have greatcoats, strong gaiters, and famous pairs of shoes ; but, 
my children, you will have to march on Milan to take them, 
where all these things are.’ 

‘So they marched. The French, crushed as flat as a pan- 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 177 


cake, held up their heads again. ‘There were thirty thousand 
of us tatterdemalions against eighty thousand swaggerers of 
Germans—fine tall men and well equipped ; I can see them yet. 
Then Napoleon, who was only Bonaparte in those days, breathed 
goodness knows what into us, and on we marched night and 
day. We rapped their knuckles at Montenotte ; we hurry on 
to thrash them at Rivoli, Lodi, Arcola, and Millesimo, and 
we never let them go. The army came to have a liking for 
winning battles. Then Napoleon hems them in on all sides, 
these German generals did not know where to hide themselves 
so as to have a little peace and comfort; he drubs them 
soundly, cribs ten thousand of their men at a time by sur- 
rounding them with fifteen hundred Frenchmen, whom he 
makes to spring up after his fashion, and at last he takes 
their cannon, victuals, money, ammunition, and everything 
they have that is worth taking; he pitches them into the 
water, he beats them on the mountains, snaps at them in the air, 
gobbles them up on the earth, and thrashes them everywhere. 

‘¢ There are the troops in full feather again! For, look 
you, the Emperor (who, for that matter, was a wit) soon sent 
for the inhabitant, and told him that he had come there to 
deliver him. Whereupon the civilian finds us free quarters 
and makes much of us, so do the women, who showed great 
discernment. To come to a final end ; in Ventose ’96, which 
was at that time what the month of March is now, we had 
been driven up into a corner of the Pays des Marmottes ; but 
after the campaign, lo and behold! we were the masters of 
Italy, just as Napoleon had prophesied. And in the month of 
March following, in one year and in two campaigns, he brings 
us within sight of Vienna; we had made a clean sweep of 
them. We had gobbled down three armies one after another, 
and taken the conceit out of four Austrian generals; one of 
them, an old man who had white hair, had been roasted like 
a rat in the straw before Mantua. The kings were suing for 
mercy on their knees. Peace had been won. Could a mere 

12 


178 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


mortal have done that? No. God helped him, that is cer- 
tain. He distributed himself about like the five loaves in the 
Gospel, commanded on the battlefield all day, and drew up 
his plans at night. The sentries always saw him coming and 
going; he neither ate nor slept. Therefore, recognizing 
these prodigies, the soldier adopts him for his father. But, 
forward ! 

‘‘ The other folk there in Paris, seeing all this, say among 
themselves— 

<¢« Here is a pilgrim who appears to take his instructions 
from heaven above ; he is uncommonly likely to lay a hand 
on France. We must let him loose on Asia or America, and 
that, perhaps, will keep him quiet.’ 

«*The same thing was decreed for him as for Jesus Cirist ; 
for, as a matter of fact, they give him orders to go an duty 
down in Egypt. See his resemblance to the Son of God! 
That is not all, though. He calls all his fire-eaters about him, 
all those into whom he had more particularly put the devil, 
and talks to them in this way— 

«« «My friends, for the time being they are giving us Egypt 
to stop our mouths. But we will swallow down Egypt in a 
brace of shakes, just as we swallowed Italy, and private 
soldiers shall be princes, and shall have broad lands of their 
own. Forward!’ 

‘* ¢ Forward, lads!’ cry the sergeants. 

«¢So we come to Toulon on the way to Egypt. Where- 
upon the English put to sea with all their fleet. But when we 
are on board, Napoleon says to us— 

«¢« They will not see us: and it 1s right and proper that you 
should know henceforward that your general has a star in the 
sky that guides us and watches over us !’ 

‘“<So said, so done. As we sailed over the sea we took 
Malta, by way of an orange to quench his thirst for victory, 
for he was a man who must always be doing something. 
There we are in Egypt. Well and good. Different orders. 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 173 


The Egyptians, look you, are men who, ever since the world 
has been the world, have been in the habit of having giants 
to reign over them, and armies like swarms of ants; because 
it is a country full of genii and crocodiles, where they have 
built up pyramids as big as our mountains; the fancy took 
them to stow their kings under the pyramids, so as to keep 
them fresh, a thing which mightily pleases them all round out 
there. Whereupon, as we landed, the Little Corporal said to 
us— 

<¢ «My children, the country which you are about to con- 
quer worships a lot of idols which you must respect, because 
the Frenchman ought to be on good terms with all the world, 
and fight people without giving annoyance. Get it well into 
your heads to let everything alone at first ; for we shall have 
it all bye and bye! And forward !’ 

«‘So far so good. But all those people had heard a 
prophecy of Napoleon, under the name of Kedir Lonaderis, 
a word which in their lingo means, ‘ The sultan fires a shot,’ 
and they feared him like the devil. So the Grand Turk, Asia, 
and Africa have recourse to magic, and they send a demon 
against us, named the Mahdi, who it was thought had come 
down from heaven on a white charger which, like its master, 
was bullet-proof, and the pair of them lived on the air of that 
part of the world. There are people who have seen them, 
but for my part I cannot give you any certain information 
about them. They were the divinities of Arabia and of the 
Mamelukes who wished their troopers to believe that the 
Mahdi had the power of preventing them from dying in battle. 
They gave out that he was an angel sent down to wage war 
on Napoleon, and to get back Solomon’s seal, part of their 
paraphernalia which they pretended our general had stolen. 
You will readily understand that we made them cry feccavi 
(I have sinned) all the same. 

“Ah, just tell me now how they came to know about that 
compact of Napoleon’s? Was that natural ? 


180 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


‘‘They took it into their heads for certain that he com- 
manded the genii, and that he went from place to place like a 
bird in the twinkling of an eye; and it is a fact that he was 
everywhere. At length it came about that he carried off a 
queen of theirs. She was the private property of a Mame- 
luke, who, although he had several more of them, flatly refused 
to strike a bargain, though ‘ the other’ offered all his treasures 
for her and diamonds as big as pigeons’ eggs. When things 
had come to that pass, they could not well be settled without 
a good deal of fighting; and there was fighting enough for 
everybody and no mistake about it. 

“‘Then we are drawn up before Alexandria, and again at 
Gizeh, and before the pyramids. We had to march over the 
sands and in the sun; people whose eyes dazzled used to see 
water that they could not drink and shade that made them 
fume. But we made short work of the Mamelukes as usual, 
and everything goes down before the voice of Napoleon, who 
seizes upper and lower Egypt and Arabia, far and wide, till 
we came to the capitals of kingdoms which no longer existed, 
where there were thousands and thousands of statues of all 
the devils in creation, all done to the life, and another curious 
thing too, any quantity of lizards. A confounded country 
where any one could have as many acres of land as he wished 
for as little as he pleased. 

‘‘ While he was busy inland, where he meant to carry out 
some wonderful ideas of his, the English burn his fleet for 
him in Aboukir Bay, for they never could do enough to annoy 
us. But Napoleon, who was respected east and west, and 
called ‘my son’ by the Pope, and ‘my dear father,’ by 
Mahomet’s cousin, makes up his mind to have his revenge on 
England, and to take India in exchange for his fleet. He set 
out to lead us into Asia, by way of the Red Sea, through a 
country where there were palaces for halting-places, and 
nothing but gold and diamonds to pay the troops with, when 
the Mahdi comes to an understanding with the plague, and 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 181 


sends it among us to make a break in our victories. Halt! 
Then every man files off to that parade from which no one 
comes back on his two feet. The dying soldier cannot take 
Acre, into which he forces an entrance three times witha 
warrior’s impetuous enthusiasm ; the plague was too strong 
for us; there was not even time to say ‘ your servant, sir,’ to 
the plague. Every man was down with it. Napoleon alone 
was as fresh as a rose; the whole army saw him drinking in 
the plague without its doing him any harm whatever. 

‘¢ There now, my friends, was that natural, do you think ? 

‘‘The Mamelukes, knowing that we were all on the sick- 
list, want to stop our road ; but it was no use trying that non- 
sense with Napoleon. So he spoke to his familiars, who had 
tougher skins than the rest— 

**“Go and clear the road for me.’ 

*¢ Junot, who was his devoted friend, and a first-class fighter, 
only takes a thousand men, and makes a clean sweep of the 
Pacha’s army, which had the impudence to bar our way. 
Thereupon back we come to Cairo, our headquarters, and now 
for another story: 

‘‘ Napoleon being out of the country, France allowed the 
people in Paris to worry the life out of her. They kept back 
the soldiers’ pay and all their linen and clothing, left them to 
starve, and expected them to lay down law to the universe, 
without taking any further trouble in the matter. They were 
idiots of the kind that amuse themselves with chattering in- 
stead of setting themselves to knead the dough. So our armies 
were defeated, France could not keep her frontiers ; The Man 
was not there. I say The Man, look you, because that was 
how they called him; but it was stuff and nonsense, for he 
had a star of his own and all his other peculiarities, it was the 
rest of us that were mere men. He hears this history of 
France after his famous battle of Aboukir, where with a single 
division he routed the grand army of the Turks, twenty-five 
thousand strong, and jostled more than half of them into the 


182 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


sea; arrah! without losing more than three hundred of his 
own men. That was his last thunder-clap in Egypt. He 
said to himself, seeing that all was lost down there, ‘I know 
that I am the saviour of France, and to France I must go.’ 

‘* But you must clearly understand that the army did not 
know of his departure ; for if they had, they would have kept 
him there by force to make him Emperor of the East. So 
there we all are without him, and in low spirits, for he was 
the life of us. He leaves Kléber in command, a great watch- 
dog, who passed in his checks at Cairo, murdered by an 
Egyptian whom they put to death by spiking him with a 
bayonet, which is their way of guillotining people out there ; 
but he suffered so much that a soldier took pity on the scoun- 
drel and handed his flask to him; and the Egyptian turned 
up his eyes then and there with all the pleasure in life. But 
there is not much fun for us about this little affair. Napoleon 
steps aboard of a little cockleshell, a mere nothing of a skiff, 
called the Fortune, and in the twinkling of an eye, and in the 
teeth of the English, who were blockading the place with 
vessels of the line and cruisers and everything that carries 
canvas, he lands in France, for he always had the faculty of 
taking the sea at a stride. Was that natural? Bah! as soon 
as he is landed at Fréjus, it is as good as saying that he has 
set foot in Paris. Everybody there worships him; but he 
calls the government together. 

«¢* What have you done to my children, the soldiers?’ he 
says to the lawyers. ‘You are a set of good-for-nothings who 
make fools of other people, and feather your own nests at the 
expense of France. It will not do. I speak in the name of 
every one who is discontented.’ 

‘Thereupon they want to put him off and to get rid of 
him; but not a bit of it! He locks them up in the barracks 
where they used to argufy and makes them jump out of the 
windows. ‘Then he makes them follow in his train, and they 
all become as mute as fishes and supple as tobacco pouches. 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 183 


So he becomes Consul at a blow. He was not the man to 
doubt the existence of the Supreme Being; he kept his word 
with Providence, who had kept His promise in earnest ; he 
sets up religion again, and gives back the churches, and they 
ring the bells for God and Napoleon. So every one is satis- 
fied; primo, the priests with whom he allows no one to 
meddle ; segondo, the merchant folk who carry on their trades 
without fear of the rapzamus of the law that had pressed too 
heavily on them; ¢erxfo, the nobles; for people had fallen 
into an unfortunate habit of putting them to death, and he 
puts a stop to this. 

«But there were enemies to be cleared out of the way, and 
he was not the one to go to sleep after mess; and his eyes, 
look you, traveled all over the world as if it had been a man’s 
face. The next thing he did was to turn up in Italy; it was 
just as if he had put his head out of the window and the sight 
of him was enough ; they gulp down the Austrians at Marengo 
like a whale swallowing gudgeons! O, ho! The French vic- 
tories blew their trumpets so loud that the whole world could 
hear the noise, and there was an end of it. 

<< ¢ We will not keep on at this game any longer!’ say the 
Germans. 

«¢¢ That is enough of this sort of thing,’ say the others. 

‘‘Here is the upshot. Europe shows the white feather, 
England knuckles under, general peace all round, and kings 
and peoples pretending to embrace each other. While then 
and there the Emperor hits on the idea of the Legion of 
Honor, there’s a fine thing if you like! 

<‘He spoke to the whole army at Boulogne. ‘In France,’ 
so he said, ‘every man is brave. So the civilian who does 
gloriously shall be the soldier’s sister, the soldier shall be his 
brother, and both shall stand together beneath the flag of 
honor.’ 

‘¢ By the time that the rest of us who were away down there 
in Egypt had come back again, everything was changed. We 


184 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


had seen him last as a general, and in no time we find that he 
is Emperor! And when this was settled (and it may safely be 
said that every one was satisfied) there was a holy ceremony 
such as never was seen under the canopy of heaven. Faith, 
France gave herself to him, like a handsome girl to a lancer, 
and the Pope and all his cardinals in robes of red and gold 
come across the Alps on purpose to anoint him before the 
army and the people, who clap their hands. 

‘There is one thing that it would be very wrong to keep 
back from you. While he was in Egypt, in the desert not far 
away from Syria, the ‘Red Man’ had appeared to him on the 
mountain of Moses, in order to say, ‘ Everything is going on 
well.’ Then again, on the eve of the victory at Marengo, the 
“Red Man’ springs to his feet in front of the Emperor for the 
second time, and says to him— 

“©*¢VYou shall see the world at your feet; you shall be 
Emperor of the French, King of Italy, master of Holland, 
ruler of Spain, Portugal and the Illyrian Provinces, protector 
of Germany, saviour of Poland, first eagle of the Legion of 
Honor, and all the rest of it.’ 

“‘That ‘Red Man,’ look you, was a notion of his own, who 
ran on errands and carried messages, so many people say, be- 
tween him and his star. I myself have never believed that ; 
but the ‘Red Man’ is, undoubtedly, a fact. Napoleon him- 
self spoke of the ‘ Red Man’ who lived up in the roof of the 
Tuileries, and who used to come to him, he said, in moments 
of trouble and difficulty. So on the night after his corona- 
tion Napoleon saw him for the third time, and they talked 
over a lot of things together. 

‘«Then the Emperor goes straight to Milan to have himself 
crowned King of Italy, and then came the real triumph of the 
soldier. For every one who could write became an officer 
forthwith, and pensions and gifts of duchies poured down in 
showers. ‘There were fortunes for the staff that never cost 
France a penny, and the Legion of Honor was as good as an 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 185 


annuity for the rank and file; I still draw my pension on the 
strength of it. In short, here were armies provided for in a 
way that had never been seen before! But the Emperor, who 
knew that he was to be Emperor over everybody, and not only 
over the army, bethinks himself of the bourgeois, and sets 
them to build fairy monuments in places that had been as bare 
as the back of my hand till then. Suppose, now, that you are 
coming out of Spain and on the way to Berlin; well, you 
would see triumphal arches, and in the sculpture upon them the 
common soldiers are done every bit as beautifully as the 
generals ! 

‘In two or three years Napoleon fills his cellars with gold, 
makes bridges, palaces, roads, scholars, festivals, laws, fleets, 
and harbors; he spends millions on millions, ever so much, 
and ever so much more to it, so that I have heard it said that 
he could have paved the whole of France with five-franc pieces 
if the fancy had taken him ; and all this without putting any 
taxes on you people here. So when he was comfortably seated 
on his throne, and so thoroughly the master of the situation 
that all Europe was waiting for leave to do anything for him 
that he might happen to want; as he had four brothers and 
three sisters, he said to us, just as it might be by way of con- 
versation, in the order of the day— 

«©¢ Children, is it fitting that your Emperor’s relations 
should beg their bread? No; I want them all to be lumi- 
naries, like me in fact! Therefore, it is urgently necessary to 
conquer a kingdom for each one of them, so that the French 
nation may be masters everywhere, so that the Guard may 
make the whole earth tremble, and France may spit wherever 
she likes, and every nation shall say to her, as it is written on 
my coins, ‘‘ God protects you.’’’ 

<¢* All right!’ answers the army; ‘we will fish up king 
doms for you with the bayonet.’ 

‘*Ah! there was no backing out of it, look you! If he 
had taken it into his head to conquer the moon, we should 


186 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


have had to put everything in train, pack our knapsacks, and 
scramble up; luckily, he had no wish for that excursion. The 
kings who were used to the comforts of a throne, of course, 
objected to be lugged off, so we had marching orders. We 
march, we get there, and the earth begins to shake to its 
centre again. What times they were for wearing out men and 
shoe-leather! And the hard knocks that they gave us! Only 
Frenchmen could have stood it. But you are not ignorant 
that a Frenchman is a born philosopher; he knows that he 
must die a little sooner or a little later. So we used to die 
without a word, because we had the pleasure of watching the 
Emperor do ¢fzs on the maps.”’ 

Here the soldier swung quickly round on one foot, so as to 
trace a circle on the barn floor with the other. 

‘¢ «There, that shall be a kingdom,’ he used to say, and it 
was a kingdom. What fine times they were! Colonels be- 
came generals whilst you were looking at them, generals became 
marshals of France, and marshals became kings. There is 
one of them still left on his feet to keep Europe in mind of 
those days, Gascon though he may be, and a traitor to France 
that he might keep his crown; and he did not blush for his 
shame, for, after all, a crown, look you, is made of gold. 
The very sappers and miners who knew how to read became 
great nobles in the same way. And I, who am telling you all 
this, have seen in Paris eleven kings and a crowd of princes all 
round about Napoleon, like rays about the sun! Keep this well 
in your minds, that as every soldier stood a chance of having 
a throne of his own (provided he showed himself worthy of 
it), a corporal of the Guard was by way of being a sight to 
see, and they gaped at him as he went by; for every one came 
by his share after a victory, it was made perfectly clear in the 
bulletin. And what battles they were! Austerlitz, where the 
army was manceuvred as if it had been a review; Eylau, where 
the Russians were drowned in a lake, just as if Napoleon had 
breathed on them and blown them in; Wagram, where the 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 187 


fighting was kept up for three whole days without flinching. 
In short, there were as many battles as there are saints in the 
calendar. 

‘¢Then it was made quite clear beyond a doubt that Napo- 
leon bore the sword of God in his scabbard. He had a regard 
for the soldier. He took the soldier for his child. He was 
anxious that you should have shoes, shirts, greatcoats, bread, 
and cartridges; but he kept up his majesty, too, for reigning 
was his own particular occupation. But, all the same, a ser- 
geant, or even a common soldier, could go up to him and call 
him ‘Emperor,’ just as you might say ‘ My good friend’ to 
me at times. And he would give an answer to anything you 
put before him. He used to sleep on the snow just like the 
rest of us—in short, he looked almost like an ordinary man ; 
but I who am telling you all these things have seen him my- 
self with the grapeshot whizzing about his ears, no more put 
out by it than you are at this moment; never moving a limb, 
watching through his field-glass, always looking after his busi- 
ness ; so we stood our ground likewise, as cool and calm as 
John the Baptist. I do not know how he did it; but when- 
ever he spoke, a something in his words made our hearts burn 
within us; and just to let him see that we were his children, 
and that it was not in us to shirk or flinch, we used to walk 
just as usual right up to the mouths of cannon that were 
belching forth smoke and vomiting battalions of balls, while 
never a man would so much as say, ‘ Lookout!’ It was asome- 
thing that made dying men raise their heads to salute him and 
cry, ‘Long live the Emperor!’ 

‘¢ Was that natural? Would you have done this for an or- 
dinary man? 

‘Thereupon, having fitted up all his family, and things 
having so turned out that the Empress Josephine (a good 
woman for all that) had no children, he was obliged to part 
company with her, although he loved her not a little. But 
he must have children, for reasons of state. All the crowned 


188 THE, COUNLRY DOCTOR. 


heads of Europe, when they heard of his difficulty, squabbled 
among themselves as to who should find him a wife. He 
married an Austrian princess, so they say, who was the daugh- 
ter of the Czesars, a man of antiquity whom everybody talks 
about, not only in our country, where it is said that most 
things were his doing, but also all over Europe. And so cer- 
tain sure is that, that I who am talking to you have been my- 
self across the Danube, where I saw the ruins of a bridge 
built by that man; and it appeared that he was some connection 
of Napoleon’s at Rome, for the Emperor claimed succession 
there for his son. 

«So, after his wedding, which was a holiday for the whole 
world, and when they relieved the people of their taxes for 
ten years to come (though they had to pay them just the same 
after all, because the excisemen took no notice of the procla- 
mation)—after his wedding, I say, his wife had a child who 
was King of Rome: a child was born a king while his father 
was alive, a thing that had never been seen in the world 
before! That day a balloon set out from Paris to carry the 
news to Rome, and went all the way in one day. There, 
now! Is there one of you who will stand me out that there 
was nothing supernatural in that? No, it was decreed on 
high. And the mischief take those who will not allow that it 
was wafted over by God himself, so as to add to the honor 
and glory of France! 

‘‘But there was the Emperor of Russia, a friend of our 
Emperor, who was put out because he had not married a 
Russian lady. So the Russian backs up our enemies, the 
English, for there had always been something to prevent 
Napoleon from putting a spoke in their wheel. Clearly an 
end must be made of fowl of that feather. Napoleon is 
vexed, and he says to us— 

«¢« Soldiers! You have been the masters of every capital 
in Europe, except Moscow, which is allied to England. So, 
in order to conquer London and India, which belong to 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 189 


them in London, I find it absolutely necessary that we go to 
Moscow.’ 

‘Thereupon the greatest army that ever wore gaiters, and 
left its footprints all over the globe, is brought together, and 
drawn up with such peculiar cleverness, that the Emperor 
passed a million of men in review, all in a single day. 

‘¢¢Hourra!’ cry the Russians, and there is all Russia 
assembled, a lot of brutes of Cossacks that you never can 
come up with! It was country against country, a general 
stramash ; we had to look out for ourselves. ‘It was all 
Asia against Europe,’ as the ‘Red Man’ had said to Napo- 
leon. ‘All right,’ Napoleon had answered, ‘I shall be ready 
for them.’ 

«¢And there, in fact, were all the kings who came to lick 
Napoleon’s hand. Austria, Prussia, Bavaria, Saxony, Poland, 
and Italy, all speaking us fair and going along with us; it was 
a fine thing! The eagles had never cooed before as they did 
on parade in those days, when they were reared above all the 
flags of all the nations of Europe. The Poles could not con- 
tain their joy because the Emperor had a notion of setting up 
their kingdom again; and ever since Poland and France have 
always been like brothers. In short, the army shouts, ‘ Russia 
shall be ours!’ 

‘<We cross the frontiers, the entire lot of us. We march 
and still further march, but never a Russian do we see. At 
last all our watchdogs are encamped at Borodino. That was 
where I received the ‘ Cross,’ and there is no denying that it 
was a cursed battle. The Emperor was not easy in his mind ; 
he had seen the ‘Red Man,’ who said to him, ‘ My child, 
you are going a little too fast for your feet ; you will run short 
of men, and your friends will play you false.’ 

‘Thereupon the Emperor proposes a treaty. But before 
he signs it, he says to us— 

<< TLet us give these Russians a drubbing !’ 

<¢¢ All right!’ cried the army. 


190 tHE COUNLRVEDOCTOR: 


«¢¢ Forward !’ say the sergeants. 

«My clothes were all falling to pieces, my shoes were worn 
out with trapezing over those roads out there, which are not 
good going at all. But it isall one. ‘Since here is the last 
of the row,’ said I to myself, ‘I mean to get all I can out 
Ofpit.” 

‘‘ We were posted before the great ravine; we had seats in 
the front row. The signal is given, and seven hundred guns 
begin a conversation fit to make the blood spirt from your 
ears. One should give the devil his due, and the Russians let 
themselves be cut in pieces just like Frenchmen ; they did not 
give way, and we made no advance. 

<¢¢ Forward !’ is the cry; ‘here is the Emperor.’ 

**So it was. He rides past us at a gallop, and makes a 
sign to us that a great deal depends on our carrying the 
redoubt. He puts fresh heart into us; we rush forward, I am 
the first man to reach the gorge. Ah! mon Dieu / how they 
fell, colonels, lieutenants, and common soldiers, all alike! 
There were shoes to fit up those who had none, and epaulettes 
for the knowing fellows that knew how to write. Victory 
is the cry all along the line! And, upon my word, there were 
twenty-five thousand Frenchmen lying on the field. No more, 
I assure you! Such a thing was never seen before ; it was just 
like a field when the corn is cut, with a man lying there for 
every ear of corn. That sobered the rest of us. The Em- 
peror comes, and we make a circle round about him, and he 
coaxes us round (for he could be very nice when he chose), 
and persuades us to dine with Duke Humphrey, when we were 
as hungry as hunters. Then our consoler distributes the 
Crosses of the Legion of Honor himself, salutes the dead, and 
says to us, ‘On to Moscow!’ 

“¢*« To Moscow, so be it!’ says the army. 

“*We take Moscow. What do the Russians do but set fire 
to their city! There was a blaze, two leagues of bonfire that 
burned for two days! The buildings fell about our ears like 





THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 191 


slates, and molten lead and iron came down in showers; it 
was really horrible ; it was a light to see our sorrows by, I can 
tell you! The Emperor said, ‘There, that is enough of this 
sort of thing; all my men shall stay here.’ 

<¢We amuse ourselves for a bit by recruiting and repairing 
our frames, for we really were much fatigued by the campaign. 
We take away with us a gold cross from the top of the Kremlin, 
and every soldier had a little fortune. But on the way back 
the winter came down on us a month earlier than usual, a 
matter which the learned (like a set of fools) have never suffi- 
ciently explained, and we are nipped with the cold. We 
were no longer an army after that, do you understand? 
There was an end of generals and even of the sergeants ; 
hunger and misery took the command instead, and all of us 
were absolutely equal under their reign. All we thought of 
was how to get back to France; no one stooped to pick up 
his gun or his money; every one walked straight before him, 
and armed himself as he thought fit, and no one cared about 
glory. 

«<The Emperor saw nothing of his star all this time, for the 
weather was so bad. There was some misunderstanding 
between him and heaven. Poor man! how bad he felt when 
he saw his eagles flying with their backs turned on victory! 
That was really too rough! Well, the next thing is the 
Beresina. And here and now, my friends, any one can assure 
you on his honor, and by all that is sacred, that never, no, 
never since there have been men on earth, never in this world 
has there been seen an army in such a stew—caissons, trans- 
ports, artillery and all—in such snow as that and under such 
a pitiless sky. It was so cold that you burned your hand on 
the barrel of your gun if you happened to touch it. There it 
was that the pontooneers saved the army, for the pontooneers 
stood firm at their posts; it was there that Gondrin behaved 
like a hero, and he is the sole survivor of all the men who 
were dogged enough to stand in the river so as to build the 


192 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


bridges on which the army crossed over, and so escaped the 
Russians, who still respected the Grand Army on account of 
its past victories. And Gondrin is an accomplished soldier,”’ 
he went on, pointing to his friend, who was gazing at him 
with the rapt attention peculiar to deaf people, ‘‘a distin- 
guished soldier who deserves to have your very highest esteem. 

“¢T saw the Emperor standing by the bridge,’’ he went on, 
‘and never feeling the cold at all. Was that, again, a 
natural thing? He was looking on at the loss of his treasures, 
of his friends, and those who had fought with him in Egypt. 
Bah! there was an end of everything. Women and wagons 
and guns were all engulfed and swallowed up, everything 
went to wreck and ruin. A few of the bravest among us 
saved the eagles, for the eagles, look you, meant France, and 
all the rest of you; it was the civil and military honor of 
France that was in our keeping, there must be no spot on the 
honor of France, and the cold should never make her bow her 
head. There was no getting warm except in the neighbor- 
hood of the Emperor; for whenever he was in danger we 
hurried up, all frozen as we were—we who would not stop to 
hold out a hand to a fallen friend. 

«¢ They say, too, that he shed tears of a night over his poor 
family of soldiers. Only he and Frenchmen could have 
pulled themselves out of such a plight ; but we did pull our- 
selves out, though, as I am telling you, it was with loss, ay, 
and heavy loss. The allies had eaten up all our provisions ; 
everybody began to betray him, just as the ‘Red Man’ had 
foretold. The rattle-pates in Paris, who had kept quiet ever 
since the Imperial Guard had been established, think that he 
is dead, and hatch a conspiracy. They set to work in the 
Home Office to overturn the Emperor. These things come 
to his knowledge and worry him ; he says to us at parting: 
‘Good-bye, children ; keep to your posts, I will come back 
again.’ 

‘*Bah! Those generals of his lose their heads at once; 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 193 


for when he was away, it was not like the same thing. The 
marshals fall out among themselves, and make blunders, as 
was only natural, for Napoleon in his kindness had fed them 
on gold till they had grown as fat as butter, and they had no 
mind to march. ‘Troubles came of this, for many of them 
stayed inactive in garrison towns in the rear, without attempt- 
ing to tickle up the backs of the enemy behind us, and we 
were being driven back on France. But Napoleon comes 
back among us with fresh troops ; conscripts they were, and 
famous conscripts too; he had put some thorough notions of 
discipline into them—the whelps were good to set their teeth 
in anybody. He had a bourgeois guard of honor too, and 
fine troops they were! They melted away like butter on a 
gridiron. We may puta bold front on it, but everything is 
against us, although the army still performs prodigies of 
valor. Whole nations fought against nations in tremendous 
battles at Dresden, Liitzen, and Bautzen, and then it was that 
France showed extraordinary heroism, for you must all of you 
bear in mind that in those times a stout grenadier only lasted 
six months. 

‘¢ We always won the day, but the English were always on 
our track, putting nonsense into other nations’ heads, and 
stirring them up to revolt. In short, we cleared a way 
through all these mobs of nations ; for wherever the Emperor 
appeared, we made a passage for him; for on the land as on 
the sea, whenever he said, ‘I wish to go forward,’ we made 
the way. 

‘© There comes a final end to it at last. We are back in 
France ; and in spite of the bitter weather, it did one’s heart 
good to breathe one’s native air again, it set up many a poor 
fellow; and as for me, it put new life into me, I can tell you. 
But it was a question all at once of defending France, our fair 
land of France. All Europe was up in arms against us; they 
took it in bad part that we had tried to keep the Russians in 
order by driving them back within their own borders, so that 

13 


194 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


they should not gobble us up, for those Northern folk have a 
strong liking for eating up the men of the South, it is a habit 
they have; I have heard the same thing of them from several 
generals. 

“©So the Emperor finds his own father-in-law, his friends 
whom he had made crowned kings, and the rabble of princes 
to whom he had given back their thrones were all against 
him. Even Frenchmen and allies in our own ranks turned 
against us, by orders from high quarters, as at Leipsic. Com- 
mon soldiers would hardly be capable of such abominations ; 
yet these princes, as they called themselves, broke their words 
three times a day! The next thing they do is to invade 
France. Whenever our Emperor shows his lion’s face, the 
enemy beats a retreat; he worked more miracles for the de- 
fence of France than he had ever wrought in the conquest of 
Italy, the East, Spain, Europe, and Russia; he has a mind to 
bury every foreigner in French soil, to give them a respect’ for 
France, so he lets them come close up to Paris, so as to do for 
them at a single blow, and to rise to the highest height of 
genius in the biggest battle that ever was fought, a mother of 
battles! But the Parisians, wanting to save their trumpery 
skins and afraid for their two-penny shops, open their gates, 
and there is a beginning of the ragusades, and an end of all 
joy and happiness ; they make a fool of the Empress, and fly 
the white flag out at the windows. The Emperor’s closest 
friends among his generals forsake him at last and go over to 
the Bourbons, of whom no one had ever heard tell. Then he 
bids us farewell at Fontainebleau : 

6¢ ¢ Soldiers ! ’ (I can hear him yet, we were all crying 
just like children ; the eagles and the flags had been lowered 
as if for a funeral. Ah! and it was a funeral, I can tell you; 
it was the funeral of the empire; those smart armies of his 
were nothing but skeletons now.) So he stood there on the 
flight of steps before his chéteau, and he said— 

‘¢« Children, we have been overcome by treachery, but we 





THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 195 


shall meet again up above in the country of the brave. Pro- 
tect my child, I leave him in your care. Long ive Napoleon 
0 Gy ies 

‘He had thought of killing himself, so that no one should 
behold Napoleon after his defeat; like Jesus Christ, before 
the crucifixion, he thought himself forsaken by God and by 
his talisman, and so he took enough poison to kill a regiment, 
but it had no effect whatever upon him. Another marvel! 
he discovered that he was immortal ; and feeling sure of his 
case, and knowing that he should be Emperor forever, he went 
to an island for a little while, so as to study the dispositions 
of those folk’who did not fail to make blunder upon blunder. 
Whilst he was biding his time, the Chinese and the brutes out 
in Africa, the Moors and whatnot, awkward customers all of 
them, were so convinced that he was something more than 
mortal that they respected his flag, saying that God would 
be displeased if any one meddled with it. So he reigned over 
all the rest of the world, although the doors of his own 
France had been closed upon him. 

‘¢Then he goes on board the same nutshell of a skiff that 
he sailed in from Egypt, passes under the noses of the English 
vessels, and sets foot in France. France recognizes her Em- 
peror, the cuckoo flits from steeple to steeple ; France cries 
with one voice, ‘Long live the Emperor!’ The enthusiasm 
for that wonder of the ages was thoroughly genuine in these 
parts. Dauphiné behaved handsomely; and I was uncom- 
monly pleased to learn that people here shed tears of joy on 
seeing his gray overcoat once more. 

“‘Tt was on March tst that Napoleon set out with two hun- 
dred men to conquer the kingdom of France and Navarre, 
which by March 2oth had become the French Empire again. 
On that day he found himself in Paris, and a clean sweep had 
been made of everything; he had won back his beloved 
France, and had called all his soldiers about him again, and 
three words of his had done it all—‘Heream I!’ ’Twas 


196 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


the greatest miracle God ever worked! Was it ever known 
in the world before that a man should do nothing but show his 
hat, and a whole empire became his? They fancied that France 
was crushed, did they? Never a bit of it. A national army 
springs up again at the sight of the eagle, and we all march 
to Waterloo. There the Guard fall all as one man. Napo- 
leon in his despair heads the rest, and flings himself three 
times on the enemy’s guns without finding the death he sought ; 
we all saw him do it, we soldiers, and the day was lost! That 
night the Emperor calls all his old soldiers about him, and there 
on the battlefield, which was soaked with our blood, he burns his 
flags and his eagles—the poor eagles that had never been de- 
feated, that had cried ‘forward!’ in battle after battle, and 
had flown above us all over Europe. That was the end of the 
eagles—all the wealth of England could not purchase for her 
one tail-feather. The rest is sufficiently known. 

‘¢'The ‘Red Man’ went over to the Bourbons like the low 
scoundrel he is. France is prostrate, the soldier counts for 
nothing, they rob him of his due, send him about his busi- 
ness, and fill his place with nobles who could not walk, they 
were so old, so that it made you sorry to see them. They 
seize Napoleon by treachery, the English shut him up on a 
desert island in the ocean, on a rock ten thousand feet above 
the rest of the world. That is the final end of it; there he 
has to stop till the ‘Red Man’ gives him back his power 
again, for the happiness of France. A lot of them say that 
he is dead! Dead? Oh! yes, very likely. They do not 
know him, that is plain! They go on telling that fib to 
deceive the people, and to keep things quiet for their tumble- 
down government. Listen; this is the whole truth of the 
matter. His friends have left him alone in the desert to fulfil 
a prophecy that was made about him, for I forgot to tell you 
that his name Napoleon means the Zion of the Desert. And 
that is gospel truth. You will hear plenty of other things 
said about the Emperor, but they are all monstrous non- 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 197 


sense. Because, look you, to no man of woman _ born 
would God have given the power to write his name in red, as 
he did, across the earth, where he will be remembered for 
ever ! Long live ‘ Napoleon, the father of the soldier, the 
father of the people!’ ’”’ 

«Long live General Eblé!’’ cried the pontooneer. 

‘‘How did you manage not to die in the gorge of the 
redoubts at Borodino?’’ asked a peasant woman. 

“Do I know? We were a whole regiment when we went 
down into it, and only a hundred foot were left standing ; 
only infantry could have carried it; for the infantry, look 
you, is everything in an army 7 

‘*But how about the cavalry?’’ cried Genestas, slipping 
down out of the hay in a sudden fashion that drew a startled 
cry from the boldest. 

“‘Hé, old boy! you are forgetting Poniatowski’s Red Lan- 
cers, the Cuirassiers, the Dragoons, and the whole boiling. 
Whenever Napoleon grew tired of seeing his battalions gain 
no ground towards the end of a victory, he would say to 
Murat, ‘ Here, you! cut them in two for me!’ and we set 
out first at a trot, and then at a gallop, one, ‘wo / and cuta 
way clean through the ranks of the enemy ; it was like slicing 
an apple in two with a knife. Why, a charge of cavalry is 
nothing more nor less than a column of cannon-balls.”’ 

«¢ And how about the pontooneers ?’’ cried the deaf veteran. 

‘« There, there! my children,’’ Genestas went on, repenting 
in his confusion of the sally he had made, when he found 
himself in the middle of a silent and bewildered group, 
‘there are no agents of police spying here! Here, drink to 
the Little Corporal with this?’’ 

‘Long live the Emperor!”’ all cried with one voice. 

‘‘ Hush ! children,’’ said the officer, concealing his own 
deep sorrow with an effort. ‘‘Hush! He 7s dead. He died 
saying, ‘Glory, France, and battle.’ So it had to be, children, 
he must die ; but his memory—never !”’ 








198 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


Goguelat made an incredulous gesture; then he whispered 
to those about him, ‘‘ The officer is still in the service, and 
orders have been issued that they are to tell the people that 
the Emperor is dead. You must not think any harm of him, 
because, after all, a soldier must obey orders.”’ 

As Genestas went out of the barn, he heard La Fosseuse 
say, ‘‘ That officer, you know, is M. Benassis’ friend, and a 
friend of the Emperor.”’ 

Every soul in the barn rushed to the door to see the com- 
mandant again ; they saw him in the moonlight, as he took 
the doctor’s arm. 

‘It was a stupid thing to do,’’ said Genestas. ‘‘ Quick! 
let us go into the house. Those eagles, cannon, and cam- 
paigns ! I had quite forgotten where I was.”’ 

‘Well, what do you think of our Goguelat?’’ asked 
Benassis. 

‘©So long as such stories are told in France, sir, she will 
always find the fourteen armies of the Republic within her, at 
need ; and her cannon will be perfectly able to keep up a 
conversation with the rest of Europe. That is what I think.”’ 

A few moments later they reached Benassis’ dwelling, and 
soon were sitting on either side of the hearth in the salon ; 
the dying fire in the grate still sent up a few sparks now and 
then. Each was absorbed in thought. Genestas was _hesi- 
tating to ask one last question. In spite of the marks of 
confidence that he had received, he feared lest the doctor 
should regard his inquiry as indiscreet. He looked search- 
ingly at Benassis more than once; and an answering smile, 
full of a kindly cordiality, such as lights up the faces of men 
of real strength of character, seemed to give him in advance 
the favorable reply for which he sought. So he spoke— 

‘¢ Your life, sir, is so different from the lives of ordinary 
men, that you will not be surprised to hear me ask you the 
reason of your retired existence. My curiosity may seem to 
you to be unmannerly, but you will admit that it is very 





THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 199 


natural. Listen a moment: I have had comrades with whom 
I have never been on intimate terms, even though I have 
made many campaigns with them ; but there have been others 
to whom I would say, ‘Go to the paymaster and draw our 
money,’ three days after we had got drunk together, a thing 
that will happen, for the quietest folk must have a frolic fit at 
times. Well, then, you are one of those people whom I take 
for a friend without waiting to ask leave, nay, without so 
much as knowing wherefore.”’ 

«« Captain Bluteau + 

Whenever the doctor had called his guest by his assumed 
name, the latter had been unable for some time past to sup- 
press a slight grimace. Benassis, happening to look up just 
then, caught this expression of repugnance ; he sought to dis- 
cover the reason of it, and looked full into the soldier’s face, 
but the real enigma was wellnigh insoluble for him, so he set 





down these symptoms to physical suffering, and went on— 

“« Captain, Iam about to speak of myself. I have had to 
force myself to do so already several times since yesterday, 
while telling you about the improvements that I have managed 
to introduce here ; but it was a question of the interests of 
the people and the commune, with which mine are necessarily 
bound up. But, now, if I tell you my story, I should have to 
speak wholly of myself, and mine has not been a very 
interesting life.’’ 

‘¢ If it were as uneventful as La Fosseuse’s life,’’ answered 
Genestas, ‘‘ I should still be glad to know about it ; I should 
like to know the untoward events that could bring a man of 
your calibre into this canton.”’ 

‘¢ Captain, for these twelve years I have lived in silence ; 
and now, as I wait at the brink of the grave for the stroke 
that shall cast me into it, I will candidly own to you that this 
silence is beginning to weigh heavily upon me. I have borne 
my sorrows alone for twelve years; I have had none of the 
comfort that friendship gives in such full measure to a heart in 


200 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


pain. My poor sick folk and my peasants certainly set me an 
example of unmurmuring resignation; but they know that I 
at least understand them and their troubles, while there is not 
a soul here who knows of the tears that I have shed, no one to 
give me the hand-clasp of a comrade, the noblest reward of 
all, a reward that falls to the lot of every other, even Gondrin 
has not missed that.’’ 

Genestas held out his hand, a sudden impulsive movement 
by which Benassis was deeply touched. 

‘‘There is La Fosseuse,’’ he went on in a different voice ; 
‘*she perhaps would have understood as the angels might ; 
but then, too, she might possibly have loved me, and that 
would have been a misfortune. Listen, captain, my confes- 
sion could only be made to an old soldier who looks as 
leniently as you do on the failings of others, or to some 
young man who has not lost the illusions of youth; for only 
aman who knows life well, or a lad to whom it is all unknown, 
could understand my story. The captains of past times who 
fell upon the field of battle used to make their last confession 
to the cross on the hilt of their sword ; if there was no priest 
at hand, it was the sword that received and kept the last con- 
fidences between a human soul and God. And will you hear 
and understand me, for you are one of Napoleon’s finest 
sword-blades, as thoroughly tempered and as strong as steel ? 
Some parts of my story can only be understood by a delicate 
tenderness, and through a sympathy with the beliefs that dwell 
in simple hearts; beliefs which would seem absurd to the 
sophisticated people who made use in their own lives of the 
prudential maxims of worldly wisdom that only apply to the 
government of states. To you I shall speak openly and with- 
out reserve, as a man who does not seek to apologize for his 
life with the good and evil done in the course of it ; as one 
who will hide nothing from you, because he lives so far from 
the world of to-day, careless of the judgments of man, and 
full of hope in God.’’ 


THE NAPOLEON OF THE PEOPLE. 201 


Benassis stopped, rose to his feet, and said, ‘‘ Before I begin 
my story, I will order tea. Jacquotte has never missed asking 
me if I will take it for these twelve years past, and she will 
certainly interrupt us. Do you care about it, captain? ”’ 

“© No, thank you.”’ 

In another moment Benassis returned. 





TV. 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR’S CONFESSION. 


‘¢T was born in a little town in Languedoc,”’ the doctor 
resumed. ‘‘ My father had been settled there for many years, 
and there my early childhood was spent. When I was eight 
years old I was sent to the school of the Oratorians at Sorréze, 
and only left it to finish my studies in Paris. My father had 
squandered his patrimony in the course of an exceedingly 
wild and extravagant youth. He had retrieved his position 
partly by a fortunate marriage, partly by the slow persistent 
thrift characteristic of provincial life; for in the provinces 
people pride themselves on accumulating rather than on spend- 
ing, and all the ambition in a man’s nature is either extin- 
guished or directed to money-getting, for want of any nobler 
end. So he had grown rich at last, and thought to transmit 
to his only son all the cut-and-dried experience which he him- 
self had purchased at the price of his lost illusions; a noble 
last illusion of age which fondly seeks to bequeath its virtues 
and its wary prudence to heedless youth, intent only on the 
enjoyment of the enchanted life that lies before it. 

‘« This foresight on my father’s part led him to make plans 
for my education for which I had to suffer. He sedulously 
concealed my expectations of wealth from me, and during the 
fairest years of my youth compelled me, for my own good, to 
endure the burden of anxiety and hardship that presses upon 
a young man who has his own way to make in the world. His 
idea in so doing was to instil the virtues of poverty into me— 
patience, a thirst for learning, and a love of work for its own 
sake. He hoped to teach me to set a proper value on my 
inheritance, by letting me learn, in this way, all that it costs 
to make a fortune ; wherefore, as soon as I was old enough to 

(202) 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR'S CONFESSION. 205 


understand his advice, he urged me to choose a profession and 
to work steadily at it. My tastes inclined me to the study of 
medicine. 

“‘So I left Sorréze, after ten years of the almost monastic 
discipline of the Oratorians; and, fresh from the quiet life of 
a remote provincial school, I was taken straight to the capital. 
My father went with me in order to introduce me to the 
notice of a friend of his; and (all unknown to me) my two 
elders took the most elaborate precautions against any ebulli- 
tions of youth on my part, innocent lad though I was. My 
allowance was rigidly computed on a scale based upon the 
absolute necessaries of life, and I was obliged to produce my 
certificate of attendance at the Ecole de Médecine before I 
was allowed to draw my quarter’s income. The excuse for 
this sufficiently humiliating distrust was the necessity of my 
acquiring methodical and business-like habits. My father, 
however, was not sparing of money for all the necessary ex- 
penses of my education and for the amusements of Parisian 
life. 

“His old friend was delighted to have a young man to 
guide through the labyrinth into which I had entered. He 
was one of those men whose natures lead them to docket their 
thoughts, feelings, and opinions every whit as carefully as 
their papers. He would turn up last year’s memorandum 
book, and could tell in a moment what he had been doing a 
twelvemonth since in this very month, day, and hour of the 
present year. Life, for him, was a business enterprise, and he 
kept the books after the most approved business methods. 
There was real worth in him though he might be punctilious, 
shrewd, and suspicious, and though he never lacked specious 
excuses for the precautionary measures that he took with re- 
gard to me. He used to buy all my books; he paid for my 
lessons ; and once, when the fancy took me to learn to ride, 
the good soul himself found me out a riding-school, went 
thither with me, and anticipated my wishes by putting a horse 


204 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


at my disposal whenever I had a holiday. In spite of all this 
cautious strategy, which I managed to defeat as soon as I had 
any temptation to do so, the kind old man was a second 
father to me. 

«« « My friend,’ he said, as soon as he surmised that I should 
break away altogether from my leading-strings, unless he re- 
laxed them, ‘ young folk are apt to commit follies which draw 
down the wrath of their elders upon their heads, and you may 
happen to want money at some time or other; if so, come to 
me. Your father helped me nobly once upon a time, and I 
shall always have a few crowns to spare for you; but never tell 
me any lies, and do not be ashamed to own to your faults. I 
myself was young once; we shall always get on well together, 
like two good comrades.’ 

‘* My father found lodgings for me with some quiet, middle- 
class people in the Latin Quarter, and my room was furnished 
nicely enough ; but this first taste of independence, my father’s 
kindness, and the self-denial which he seemed to be exercis- 
ing for me, brought me but little happiness. Perhaps the 
value of liberty cannot be known until it has been experi- 
enced ; and the memories of the freedom of my childhood 
had been almost effaced by the irksome and dreary life at 
school, from which my spirits had scarcely recovered. In 
addition to this, my father had urged new tasks upon me, so 
that altogether Paris was an enigma. You must acquire some 
knowledge of its pleasures before you can amuse yourself in 
Paris. 

‘«My real position, therefore, was quite unchanged, save 
that my new school was a much larger building, and was called 
the Ecole de Médecine. Nevertheless, I studied away bravely 
at first; I attended lectures diligently ; I worked desperately 
hard and without relaxation, so strongly was my imagination 
affected by the abundant treasures of knowledge to be gained 
in the capital. But very soon I heedlessly made acquaint- 
ances ; danger lurks hidden beneath the rash confiding friend- 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR'S CONFESSION. 205 


ships that have so strong a charm for youth, and gradually I 
was drawn into the dissipated life of the capital. I became 
an enthusiastic lover of the theatre; and with my craze for 
actors and the play, the work of my demoralization began. 
The stage, in a great metropolis, exerts a very deadly influ- 
ence over the young; they never quit the theatre save in a 
state of emotional excitement almost always beyond their 
power to control; society and the law seem to me to be ac- 
cessories to the irregularities brought about in this way. Our 
legislation has shut its eyes, so to speak, to the passions that 
torment a young man between twenty and five-and-twenty 
years of age. In Paris he is assailed by temptations of every 
kind. Religion may preach and law may demand that he 
should walk uprightly, but all his surroundings and the tone 
of those about him are so many incitements to evil. Do not 
the best of men and the most devout women there look upon 
continence as ridiculous? ‘The great city, in fact, seems to 
have set herself to give encouragement to vice and to this 
alone ; for a young man finds that the entrace to every hon- 
orable career in which he might look for success is barred by 
hindrances even more numerous than the snares that are con- 
tinually set for him, so that through his weaknesses he may be 
robbed of his money. 

‘‘For a long while I went every evening to some theatre, 
and little by little I fell into idle ways. I grew more and 
more slack over my work; even my most pressing tasks were 
apt to be put off till the morrow, and before very long there 
was an end of my search after knowledge for its own sake; I 
did nothing more than the work which was absolutely required 
to enable me to get through the examinations that must be 
passed before I could become a doctor. I attended the pub- 
lic lectures, but I no longer paid any attention to the pro- 
fessors, who, in my opinion, were a set of dotards. I had 
already broken my idols—I became a Parisian. 

“To be brief, I led the aimless drifting life of a young 


206 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


provincial thrown into the heart of a great city; still retain- 
ing some good and true feeling, still clinging more or less to 
the observance of certain rules of conduct, still fighting in 
vain against the debasing influence of evil examples, though 
I offered a feeble, half-hearted resistance, for the enemy had 
accomplices within me. . Yes, sir, my face is not misleading ; 
past storms have plainly left their traces there. Yet, since I 
had drunk so deeply of the pure fountain of religion in my 
early youth, I was haunted in the depths of my soul, through 
all my wanderings, by an ideal of moral perfection which 
could not fail one day to bring me back to God by the paths 
of weariness and remorse. Is not he who feels the pleasures 
of earth most keenly sure to be attracted, soon or late, by the 
fruits of heaven ? 

‘* At first I went through the experience, more or less vivid, 
that always comes with youth—the countless moments of ex- 
ultation, the unnumbered transports of despair. Sometimes 
I took my vehement energy of feeling for resolute will, and 
overestimated my powers; sometimes at the mere sight of 
some trifling obstacle with which I was about to come into 
collision, I was far more cast down than I ought to have been. 
Then I would devise vast plans, would dream of glory, and 
betake myself to work; but a pleasure party would divert 
me from the noble projects based on so infirm a purpose. 
Vague recollections of these great abortive schemes of mine 
left a deceptive glow in my soul and fostered my belief in 
myself, without giving me the energy to produce. In my 
indolent self-sufficiency I was in a very fair way to become a 
fool, for what is a fool but a man who fails to justify the 
excellent opinion which he has formed of himself? My 
energy was directed towards no definite aims; I wished for 
the flowers of life without the toil of cultivating them. I 
had no idea of the obstacles, so I imagined that everything 
was easy ; luck, I thought, accounted for success in science 
and in business, and genius was charlatanism. I took it for 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR'S CONFESSION. 207 


granted that I should be a great man, because there was the 
power of becoming one within me; so I discounted all my 
future glory, without giving a thought to the patience re- 
quired for the conception of a great work, nor of the execu- 
tion, in the course of which all the difficulties of the task 
appear. 

‘“‘The sources of my amusements were soon exhausted. 
The charm of the theatre does not last very long; and, for a 
poor student, Paris shortly became an empty wilderness. 
They were dull and uninteresting people that I met with in 
the circle of the family with whom I lived ; but these, and an 
old man who had now lost touch with the world, were all the 
society that I had. 

“¢ So, ‘like every young man who takes a dislike to the career 
marked out for him, I rambled about the streets for whole days 
together ; I strolled along the quays, through the museums 
and public gardens, making no attempt to arrive at a clear 
understanding of my position, and without a single definite 
idea in my head. The burden of unemployed energies is felt 
more at that age than at any other; there is such an abun- 
dance of vitality running to waste, so much activity without 
result. I had no idea of the power that a resolute will puts 
into the hands of a man in his youth; for when he has ideas 
and puts his whole heart and soul into the work of carrying 
them out, his strength is yet further increased by the undaunted 
courage of youthful convictions. 

‘¢Childhood in its simplicity knows nothing of the perils 
of life ; youth sees both its vastness and its difficulties, and at 
the prospect the courage of youth sometimes flags. We are 
still serving our apprenticeship to life; we are new to the 
business, a kind of faintheartedness overpowers us, and leaves 
us in an almost dazed condition of mind. We feel that we are 
helpless aliens in a strange country. At all ages we shrink 
back involuntarily from the unknown. Anda young man is 
very much like the soldier who will walk up to the cannon’s 


208 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


mouth, and is put to flight by a ghost. He hesitates among 
the maxims of the world. The rules of attack and of self- 
defence are alike unknown to him; he can neither give nor 
take; he is attracted by women, and stands in awe of them ; 
his very good qualities tell against him, he is all gener- 
osity and modesty, and completely innocent of mercenary 
designs. Pleasure and not interest is his object when he tells 
a lie; and among many dubious courses, the conscience, with 
which as yet he has not juggled, points out to him the right 
way, which he is slow to take. 

““There are men whose lives are destined to be shaped by 
the impulses of their hearts, rather than by any reasoning 
process that takes place in their heads, and such natures as 
these will remain for a long while in the position that I have 
described. This was my own case. I became the plaything 
of two contending impulses ; the desires of youth were always 
held in check by a fainthearted sentimentality. Life in Paris 
is a cruel ordeal for impressionable natures, the great inequal- 
ities of fortune or of position inflame their souls and stir up 
bitter feelings. In that world of magnificence and pettiness 
envy is more apt to be a dagger than a spur. You are bound 
either to fall a victim or to become a partisan in this incessant 
strife of ambitions, desires, and hatreds, in the midst of which 
you are placed; and by slow degrees the picture of vice 
triumphant and virtue made ridiculous produces its effect ona 
young man, and he wavers ; life in Paris soon rubs the bloom 
from conscience, the infernal work of demoralization has 
begun, and is soon accomplished. The first of pleasures, that 
which at the outset comprehends all the others, is set about 
with such perils that it is impossible not to reflect upon the 
least actions which it provokes, impossible not to calculate all 
its consequences. ‘These calculations lead to selfishness. If 
some poor student, carried away by an impassioned enthu- 
siasm, is fain to rise above selfish considerations, the suspicious 
attitude of those about him makes him pause and doubt; it is 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR'S CONFESSION. 209 


so hard not to share their mistrust, so difficult not to be on his 
guard against his own generous thoughts. His heart is seared 
and contracted by this struggle, the current of life sets toward 
the brain, and the callousness of the Parisian is the result— 
the condition of things in which schemes for power and wealth 
are concealed by the most charming frivolity, and lurk be- 
neath the sentimental transports that take the place of enthu- 
siasm. The simplest-natured woman in Paris always keeps a 
clear head even in the intoxication of happiness. 

‘This atmosphere was bound to affect my opinions and 
my conduct. ‘The errors that have poisoned my life would 
have lain lightly on many a conscience, but we in the south 
have a religious faith that leads us to believe in a future life, 
and in the truths set forth by the Catholic Church. These 
beliefs give depth and gravity to every feeling, and to remorse 
a terrible and lasting power. 

‘«The army were the masters of society at the time when 
I was studying medicine. In order to shine in women’s eyes, 
one had to be a colonel at the very least. A poor student 
counted for absolutely nothing. Goaded by the strength of 
my desires, and finding no outlet for them; hampered at 
every step and in every wish by the want of money ; looking 
on study and fame as too slow a means of arriving at the 
pleasures that tempted me; drawn one way by my inward 
scruples, and another by evil examples; meeting with every 
facility for low dissipation, and finding nothing but hindrances 
barring the way to good society, I passed my days in wretch- 
edness, overwhelmed by a surging tumult of desires, and by 
indolence of the most deadly kind, utterly cast down at times, 
only to be as suddenly elated. 

‘¢ The catastrophe which at length put an end to this crisis 
was commonplace enough. ‘The thought of troubling the 
peace of a household has always been repugnant to me; and 
not only so, I could not dissemble my feelings, the instinct 
of sincerity was too strong in me; I should have found it a 

14 


210 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


physical impossibility to lead a life of glaring falsity. There 
is for me but little attraction in pleasures that must be snatched. 
I wish for full consciousness of my happiness. I led a life of 
solitude, for which there seemed to be no remedy ; for I shrank 
from openly vicious courses, and the many efforts that I made 
to enter society were all in vain. There I might have met 
with some woman who would have undertaken the task of 
teaching me the perils of every path, who would have formed 
my manners, counseled me without wounding my vanity, and 
introduced me everywhere where I was likely to make friends 
who would be useful to me in my future career. In my de- 
spair, an intrigue of the most dangerous kind would perhaps 
have had its attractions for me; but even peril was out of my 
reach. My inexperience sent me back again to my solitude, 
where I dwelt face to face with my thwarted desires. 

“At last I formed a connection, at first a secret one, with 
a girl, whom I persuaded, half against her will, to share my 
life. | Her people were worthy folk, who had bnt small means. 
It was not very long before she left her simple sheltered life, 
and fearlessly intrusted me with a future that virtue would 
have made happy and fair ; thinking, no doubt, that my nar- 
row income was the surest guarantee of my faithfulness to her. 
From that moment the tempest that had raged within me 
ceased, and happiness lulled my wild desires and ambitions to 
sleep. Such happiness is only possible for a young man who 
is ignorant of the world, who knows nothing as yet of its 
accepted codes nor of the strength of prejudice ; but while it 
lasts, his happiness is as all-absorbing as a child’s. Is not 
first love like a return of childhood across the intervening 
years of anxiety and toil? 

“There are men who learn life at a glance, who see it for 
what it is at once, who learn experience from the mistakes of 
others, who apply the current maxims of worldly wisdom to 
their own case with signal success, and make unerring fore- 
casts at all times. Wise in their generation are such cool 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR'S CONFESSION. 211 


heads as these! But there is also a luckless race endowed 
with the impressionable, keenly-sensitive temperament of the 
poet; these are the natures that fall into error, and to this 
latter class I belonged. There was no great depth in the feel- 
ing that first drew me towards this poor girl; I followed my 
instinct rather than my heart when I sacrificed her to myself, 
and I found no lack of excellent reasons wherewith to per- 
suade myself that there was no harm whatever in what I had 
done. And as for her—she was devotion itself, a noble soul 
with a clear, keen intelligence and a heart of gold. She 
never counseled me other than wisely. Her love put fresh 
heart into me from the first ; she foretold a splendid future of 
success and fortune for me, and gently constrained me to take 
up my studies again by her belief in me. In these days there 
is scarcely a branch of science that has no bearing upon medi- 
cine; it is a difficult task to achieve distinction, but the 
reward is great, for in Paris fame always means fortune. The 
unselfish girl devoted herself to me, shared in every interest, 
even the slightest, of my life, and managed so carefully and 
wisely that we lived in comfort on my narrow income. I 
had more money to spare, now that there were two of us, than 
I had ever had while I lived by myself. Those were my hap- 
piest days. I worked with enthusiasm, I had a definite aim 
before me, I had found the encouragement I needed. Every- 
thing I did or thought I carried to her, who had not only 
found the way to gain my love, but above and beyond this 
had filled me with sincere respect for her by the modest dis- 
cretion which she displayed in a position where discretion and 
modesty seemed wellnigh impossible. But one day was like 
another, sir; and it is only after our hearts have passed 
through all the storms appointed for us that we know the 
value of a monotonous happiness, and learn that life holds 
nothing more sweet for us than this: a calm happiness in 
which the fatigue of existence is felt no longer, and the 
inmost thoughts of either find response in the other’s soul. 


212 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


«My former dreams assailed me again. They were my own 
vehement longings for the pleasures of wealth that awoke, 
though it was in love’s name that I now asked for them. In 
the evenings I grew abstracted and moody, rapt in imaginings 
of the pleasures I could enjoy if I were rich, and thought- 
lessly gave expression to my desires in answer to a tender 
questioning voice. I must have drawn a painful sigh from 
her who had devoted herself to my happiness ; for she, sweet 
soul, felt nothing more cruelly than the thought that I wished 
for something that she could not give me immediately. Oh! 
sir, a woman’s devotion is sublime! ”’ 

There was a sharp distress in the doctor’s exclamation 
which seemed prompted by some recollection of his own; he 
paused for a brief while, and Genestas respected his musings. 

‘‘Well, sir,’’ Benassis resumed, ‘‘something happened 
which should have concluded the marriage thus begun; but 
instead of that it put an end to it, and was the cause of all 
my misfortunes. My father died and left me a large fortune. 
The necessary business arrangements demanded my presence 
in Languedoc for several months, and I went thither alone. 
At last I had regained my freedom! Even the mildest yoke 
is galling to youth ; we do not see its necessity any more than 
we see the need to work, until we have had some experience 
of life. Icame and went without giving an account of my 
actions to any one; there was no need to do so now unless I 
wished, and I relished liberty with all the keen capacity for 
enjoyment that we have in Languedoc. I did not absolutely 
forget the ties that bound me; but I was so absorbed in other 
matters of interest that my mind was distracted from them, 
and little by little the recollection of them faded away. 
Letters full of heartfelt tenderness reached me; but at two- 
and-twenty a young man imagines that all women are alike 
tender ; he does not know love from a passing infatuation ; 
all things are confused in the sensations of pleasure which 
seem at first to comprise everything. It was only later, when 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR'S CONFESSION. 213 


I came to a clearer knowledge of men and of things as they 
are, that I could estimate those noble letters at their just 
worth. No trace of selfishness was mingled with the feeling 
expressed in them; there was nothing but gladness on my 
account for my change of fortune, and regret on her own; it 
never occurred to her that I could change towards her, for she 
felt that she herself was incapable of change. But even then 
I had given myself up to ambitious dreams; I thought of 
drinking deeply of all the delights that wealth could give, of 
becoming a person of consequence, of making a brilliant 
marriage. So I read the letters, and contented myself with 
saying, ‘She is very fond of me,’ with the indifference of a 
coxcomb, Even then I was perplexed as to how to extricate 
myself from this entanglement ; I was ashamed of it, and 
this fact as well as my perplexity led me to be cruel. We 
begin by wounding the victim, and then we kill it, that the 
sight of our cruelty may no longer put us to the blush. Late 
reflections upon those days of error have unveiled for me 
many a dark depth in the human heart. Yes, believe me, 
those who best have fathomed the good and evil in human 
nature have honestly examined themselves in the first instance. 
Conscience is the starting-point of our investigations; we 
proceed from ourselves to others, never from others to our- 
selves. 

‘« When I returned to Paris I took up my abode in a large 
house which, in pursuance with my orders, had been taken 
for me, and the one person interested in my return and change 
of address was not informed of it. I wished to cut a figure 
among young men of fashion. I waited a few days to taste 
the first delights of wealth; and when, flushed with the 
excitement of my new position, I felt that I could trust my- 
self to do so, I went to see the poor girl whom I meant to 
cast off. With a woman’s quickness she saw what was passing 
in my mind, and hid her tears from me. She could not but 
have despised me; but it was her nature to be gentle and 


214 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


kind, and she never showed her scorn. Her forbearance was 
acruel punishment. An unresisting victim is not a pleasant 
thing ; whether the murder is done decorously in the drawing- 
room, or brutally on the highway, there should be a struggle 
to give some plausible excuse for taking a life. I renewed my 
visits very affectionately at first, making efforts to be gracious, 
if not tender; by slow degrees I became politely civil; and 
one day, by a sort of tacit agreement between us, she allowed 
me to treat her as a stranger, and I thought that I had done 
all that could be expected of me. Nevertheless I abandoned 
myself to my new life with almost frenzied eagerness, and 
sought to drown in gaiety any vague lingering remorse that I 
felt. A man who has lost his self-respect cannot endure his 
own society, so I led the dissipated life that wealthy young 
men lead in Paris. Owing to a good education and an 
excellent memory, I seemed cleverer than I really was, forth- 
with I looked down upon other people; and those who, for 
their own purposes, wished to prove to me that I was possessed 
of extraordinary abilities, found me quite convinced on that 
head. Praise is the most insidious of all methods of treachery 
known to the world; and this is nowhere better understood 
than in Paris, where intriguing schemers know how to stifle 
every kind of talent at its birth by heaping laurels on its 
cradle. So I did nothing worthy of my reputation ; I reaped 
no advantages from the golden opinions entertained of me, 
and made no acquaintances likely to be useful in my future 
career. I wasted my energies in numberless frivolous pursuits, 
and in the short-lived love intrigues that are the disgrace of 
salons in Paris, where every one seeks for love, grows blasé in 
the pursuit, falls into the libertinism sanctioned by polite 
society, and ends by feeling as much astonished at real passion 
as the world is over a heroic action. I did as others did. 
Often I dealt to generous and candid souls the deadly wound 
from which I myself was slowly perishing. Yet though de- 
ceptive appearances might lead others to misjudge me, I could 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR'S CONFESSION. 215 


never overcome my scrupulous delicacy. Many times I had 
been duped, and should have blushed for myself had it been 
otherwise ; I secretly prided myself on acting in good faith, 
although this lowered me in the eyes of others. As a matter 
of fact, the world has a considerable respect for cleverness, 
whatever form it takes, and success justifies everything. So 
the world was pleased to attribute to me all the good qualities 
and evil propensities, all the victories and defeats which had 
never been mine ; credited me with conquest of which I knew 
nothing, and sat in judgment upon actions of which I had 
never been guilty. I scorned to contradict the slanders, and 
self-love. led me to regard the more flattering rumors with a 
certain complacency. Outwardly my existence was pleasant 
enough, but in reality Iwas miserable. If it had not been for 
the tempest of misfortunes that very soon burst over my head, 
all good impulses must have perished, and evil would have 
triumphed in the struggle that went on within me ; enervating 
self-indulgence would have destroyed the body, as the detest- 
able habits of egotism exhausted the springs of the soul. But 
I was ruined financially. This was how it came about. 

‘* No matter how large his fortune may be, a man is sure to 
find some one else in Paris possessed of yet greater wealth, 
whom he must needs aim at surpassing. In this unequal con- 
test I was vanquished at the end of four years; and, like many 
another harebrained youngster, I was obliged to sell part of 
my property and to mortgage the remainder to satisfy my 
creditors. ‘Then a terrible blow suddenly struck me down. 

*¢ Two years had passed since I had last seen the woman 
whom I had deserted. The turn that my affairs were taking 
would no doubt have brought me back to her once more ; but 
one evening, in the midst of a gay circle of acquaintances, 
I received a note written in a trembling hand. It only con- 
tained these few words: 

«©<T have only a very little while to live, and I should like 
to see you, my friend, so that I may know what will become 


216 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


of my child—whether henceforward he will be yours; and 
also to soften the regret that some day you might perhaps feel 
for my death.’ 

“The letter made me shudder. It was a revelation of 
secret anguish in the past, while it contained a whole unknown 
future. I set out on foot, I would not wait for my carriage ; 
I went across Paris, goaded by remorse, and gnawed by a 
dreadful fear that was confirmed by the first sight of my victim. 
In the extreme neatness and cleanliness beneath which she 
had striven to hide her poverty I read all the terrible sufferings 
of her life; she was nobly reticent about them in her effort to 
spare my feelings, and only alluded to them after I had 
solemnly promised to adopt our child. She died, sir, in spite 
of all the care lavished upon her, and all that science could 
suggest was done for her in vain. The care and devotion that 
had come too late only served to render her last moments less 
bitter. 

‘«'To support her little one she had worked incessantly with 
her needle. Love for her child had given her strength to 
endure her life of hardship; but it had not enabled her 
to bear my desertion, the keenest of all her griefs. Many 
times she had thought of trying to see me, but her woman’s 
pride had always prevented this. While I squandered floods 
of gold upon my caprices, no memory of the past had ever 
bidden a single drop to fall in her home to help mother and 
child to live; but she had been content to weep, and had not 
cursed me ; she had looked upon her evil fortune as the natural 
punishment of her error. With the aid of a good priest of 
Saint Sulpice, whose kindly voice had restored peace to her 
soul, she had sought for hope in the shadow of the altar, 
whither she had gone to dry her tears. ‘The bitter flood that 
I had poured into her heart gradually abated; and one day, 
when she heard her child say ‘ Father,’ a word that she had 
not taught him, she forgave my crime. But sorrow and weep- 
ing and days and nights of ceaseless toil injured her health, 


THE COUNTRY DOCTORS CONFESSION. 217 


Religion had brought its consolations and the courage to bear 
the ills of life, but all too late. She fell ill of a heart com- 
plaint brought on by grief and by the strain of expectation, for 
she always thought that I should return, and her hopes always 
sprang up afresh after every disappointment. Her health grew 
worse ; and at last, as she was lying on her deathbed, she wrote 
those few lines, containing no word of reproach, prompted by 
religion, and by a belief in the goodness of my nature. She 
knew, she said, that I was blinded rather than bent on doing 
wrong. She even accused herself of carrying her womanly 
pride too far. ‘If I had only written sooner,’ she said, ‘ per- 
haps there might have been time for a marriage which would 
have legitimated our child.’ 

“<Tt was only on her child’s account that she wished for the 
solemnization of the ties that bound us, nor would she have 
sought for this if she had not felt that death was at hand to 
unloose them. But it was too late; even then she had only 
a few hours to live. By her bedside, where I had learned to 
know the worth of a devoted heart, my nature underwent a 
final change. I was still at an age when tears are shed. 
During those last days, while the precious life yet lingered, 
my tears, my words, and everything I did bore witness to my 
heartstricken repentance. The meanness and pettiness of the 
society in which I had moved, the emptiness and selfishness 
of women of fashion had taught me to wish for and to seek 
an elect soul, and now I had found it—too late. I was weary 
of lying words and of masked faces ; counterfeit passion had set 
me dreaming ; I had called on love; and now I beheld love 
lying before me, slain by my own hands, and had no power 
to keep it beside me, no power to keep what was so wholly 
mine. 

‘¢ The experience of four years had taught me to know my 
own real character. My temperament, the nature of my im- 
agination, my religious principles, which had not been eradi- 
cated, but had rather lain dormant; my turn of mind, my 


218 PHE (COUNTRY DOCTOR: 


heart that only now began to make itself felt—everything 
within me led me to resolve to fill my life with the pleasures of 
affection, to replace a lawless love by family happiness—the 
truest happiness on earth. Visions of close and dear com- 
panionship appealed to me but the more strongly for my 
wanderings in the wilderness, my grasping at pleasures unen- 
nobled by thought or feeling. So though the revolution within 
me was rapidly effected, it was permanent. With my southern 
temperament, warped by the life I led in Paris, I should cer- 
tainly have come to look without pity on an unhappy girl 
betrayed by her lover ; I should have laughed at the story if 
it had been told me by some wag in merry company (for 
with us in France a clever don mot dispels all feeling of horror 
at acrime), but allsophistries were silenced in the presence of 
this angelic creature, against whom I could bring not the least 
word of reproach. There stood her coffin, and my child, 
who did not know that I had murdered his mother, smiled 
at me. 

**She died. She died happy when she saw that I loved her, 
and that this new love was due neither to pity nor to the ties 
that bound us together. Never shall I forget her last hours. 
Love had been won back, her mind was at rest about her child, 
and happiness triumphed over suffering. The comfort and 
luxury about her, the merriment of her child, who looked 
prettier still in the dainty garb that had replaced his baby- 
clothes, were pledges of a happy future for the little one, in 
whom she saw her own life renewed. 

‘« The curate of Saint Sulpice witnessed my terrible distress. 
His words wellnigh made me despair. He did not attempt to 
offer conventional consolation, and put the gravity of my 
responsibilities unsparingly before me, but I had no need of a 
spur. The conscience within me spoke loudly enough already. 
A woman had placed a generous confidence in me. I had lied 
to her from the first; I had told her that I loved her, and then 
I had cast her off; I had brought all this sorrow upon an un- 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR'S CONFESSION. 219 


happy girl who had braved the opinion of the world for me, 
and who therefore should have been sacred in my eyes. She 
had died forgiving me. Her implicit trust in the word of a 
man who had once before broken his promise to her effaced 
the memory of all her pain and grief, and she slept in peace. 
Agatha, who had given me her girlish faith, had found in her 
heart another faith to give me—the faith of a mother. Oh! 
sir, the child, Aer child! God alone can know all that he 
was tome! The dear little one was like his mother; he had 
her winning grace in his little ways, his talk and ideas; but 
for me, my child was not only a child, but something more ; 
was he not the token of my forgiveness, my honor ? 

‘« He should have more than a father’s affection. He should 
be loved as his mother would have loved him. My remorse 
might change to happiness if I could only make him feel that 
his mother’s arms were still about him. I clung to him with 
all the force of human love and the hope of heaven, with all 
the tenderness in my heart that God has given to mothers. 
The sound of the child’s voice made me tremble. I used to 
watch him while he slept with a sense of gladness that was 
always new, albeit a tear sometimes fell on his forehead; I 
taught him to come to say his prayer upon my bed as soon as 
he awoke. How sweet and touching were the simple words 
of the Paver-noster in the innocent childish mouth! Ah! 
and at times howterrible! ‘ Our Father which art in heaven,’ 
he began one morning; then he paused—‘ Why is it not our 
mother 2’ he asked, and my heart sank at his words. 

‘“‘From the very first I had sown the seeds of future mis- 
fortune in the life of the son whom I idolized. Although the 
law has almost countenanced errors of youth by conceding to 
tardy regret a legal status to natural children, the insurmount- 
able prejudices of society bring a strong force to the support 
of the reluctance of the law. All serious reflection on my 
part as to the foundations and mechanism of society, on the 
duties of man, and vital questions of morality date from this 


220 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


period of my life. Genius comprehends at first sight the 
connection between a man’s principles and the fate of the 
society of which he forms a part ; devout souls are inspired by 
religion with the sentiments necessary for their happiness ; but 
vehement and impulsive natures can only be schooled by 
repentance. With repentance came new light for me; and I, 
who only lived for my child, came through that child to think 
over great social questions. 

“I determined from the first that he should have all pos- 
sible means of success within himself, and that he should be 
thoroughly prepared to take the high position for which I 
destined him. He learned English, German, Italian, and 
Spanish in succession; and, that he might speak these lan- 
guages correctly, tutors belonging to each of these various 
nationalities were successively placed about him from his 
earliest childhood. His aptitude delighted me. I took ad- 
vantage of it to give him lessons in the guise of play. I 
wished to keep his mind free from fallacies, and strove before 
all things to accustom him from childhood to exert his intel- 
lectual powers, to make a rapid and accurate general survey 
of a matter, and then, by a careful study of every minor par- 
ticular, to master his subject in detail. Lastly, I taught him 
to submit to discipline without murmuring. I never allowed 
an impure or improper word to be spoken in his hearing. I 
was careful that all his surroundings, and the men with whom 
he came in contact, should conduce to one end—to ennoble 
his nature, to set lofty ideals before him, to give him a love 
of truth and a horror of lies, to make him simple and natural 
in manner, as in word and deed. His natural aptitude had 
made his other studies easy to him, and his jmagination made 
him quick to grasp these lessons that lay outside the province 
of the school-room. Whata fair flower to tend! How great 
are the joys that mothers know! In those days I began to 
understand how his own mother had been able to live and 
to bear her sorrow. This, sir, was the great event of my 


THE COUNTRY DOCTORS CONFESSION. 221 


life ; and now I am coming to the tragedy which drove me 
hither. 

‘Tt is the most ordinary commonplace story imaginable ; 
but to me it meant the most terrible pain. For some years I 
had thought of nothing but my child, and how to make a 
man of him; then when my son was growing up and about to 
leave me, I grew afraid of my loneliness. Love was a neces- 
sity of my existence; this need for affection had never been 
satisfied, and only grew stronger with years. I was in every 
way capable of a real attachment; I had been tried and 
proved. I knew all that a steadfast love means, the love that 
delights to find a pleasure in self-sacrifice ; in everything I 
did my first thought would always be for the woman I loved. 
In imagination I was fain to dwell on the serene heights far 
above doubt and uncertainty, where love so fills two beings 
that happiness flows quietly and evenly into their life, their 
looks, and words. Such love is to a life what religion is to 
the soul ; a vital force, a power that enlightens and upholds. 
I understood the love of husband and wife in nowise as most 
people do; for me its full beauty and magnificence began 
precisely at the point where love perishes in many a household. 
I deeply felt the moral grandeur of a life so closely shared by 
two souls that the trivialities of every-day existence should be 
powerless against such lasting love as theirs. But where will 
the hearts be found whose beats are so nearly zsochronous (let 
the scientific term pass) that they may attain to this beatific 
union? If they exist, nature and chance have set them far 
apart, so that they cannot come together; they find each 
other too late, or death comes too soon to separate them. 
There must be some good reasons for these dispensations of 
fate, but I have never sought to discover them. I cannot 
make a study of my wound, because I suffer too much from it. 
Perhaps perfect happiness is a monster which our species 
should not perpetuate. There were other causes for my fer- 
vent desire for such a marriage as this. I had no friends, the 


222 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


world for me was a desert. There is something in me that 
repels friendship. More than one person has sought me out, 
but, in spite of efforts on my part, it came to nothing. With 
many men I have been careful to show no sign of something 
that is called ‘superiority ;’ I have adapted my mind to 
theirs; I have placed myself at their point of view, joined in 
their laughter, and overlooked their defects; any fame I 
might have gained, I would have bartered for a little kindly 
affection. They parted from me without regret. If you seek 
for real feeling in Paris, snares await you everywhere, and the 
end is sorrow. Wherever I set my foot, the ground round 
about me seemed to burn. My readiness to acquiesce was 
considered weakness ; though if I unsheathed my talons, like 
a man conscious that he may some day wield the thunder- 
bolts of power, I was thought ill-natured; to others, the 
delightful laughter that ceases with youth, and in which in 
later years we are almost ashamed to indulge, seemed absurd, 
and they amused themselves at my expense. People may be 
bored nowadays, but none the less they expect you to treat 
every trivial topic with befitting seriousness. 

«‘A hateful era! You must bow down before mediocrity, 
frigidly polite mediocrity which you despise—and obey. On 
more mature reflection, I have discovered the reasons of these 
glaring inconsistencies. Mediocrity is never out of fashion, 
it is the daily wear of society ; genius and eccentricity are 
ornaments that are locked away and only brought out on cer- 
tain days. Everything that ventures forth beyond the protec- 
tion of the grateful shadow of mediocrity has something 
startling about it. 

<¢So, in the midst of Paris, I led a solitary life. I had 
given up everything to society, but it had given me nothing in 
return; and my child was not enough to satisfy my heart, 
because I was not a woman. My life seemed to be growing 
cold within me ; I was bending under a load of secret misery 
when I met the woman who was to make me know the might 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR’S CONFESSION. 223 


of love, the reverence of an acknowledged love, love with its 
teeming hopes of happiness—in one word—love. 

‘‘T had renewed my acquaintance with that old friend of 
my father’s who had once taken charge of my affairs. It was 
in his house that I first met her whom I must love as long as 
life shall last. The longer we live, sir, the more clearly we 
see the enormous influence of ideas upon the events of life. 
Prejudices, worthy of all respect, and bred by noble religious 
ideas, occasioned my misfortunes. This young girl belonged 
to an exceedingly devout family, whose views of Catholicism 
were due to the spirit of a sect improperly styled Jansenists, 
which, in former times, caused troubles in France. You 
know why ?’”’ 

“‘ No,’’ said Genestas. 

“« Jansenius, Bishop of Ypres, once wrote a book which was 
believed to contain propositions at variance with the doctrines 
of the Holy See. When examined at a later date, there 
appeared to be nothing heretical in the wording of the text ; 
some authors even went so far as to deny that the heretical 
propositions had any real existence. However it was, these 
insignifiesnt disputes gave rise to two parties in the Gallican 
Church—the Jansenists and the Jesuits. Great men were 
found in either camp, and a struggle began between two 
powerful bodies. The Jansenists affected an excessive purity 
of morals and of doctrine, and accused the Jesuits of preach- 
ing arelaxed morality. The Jansenists, in fact, were Catholic 
Puritans, if two contradictory terms can be combined. Dur- 
ing the Revolution, the Concordat occasioned an unimportant 
schism, a little segregation of ultra-catholics who refused to 
recognize the Bishops appointed by the authorities with the 
consent of the Pope. This little body of the faithful was 
called the Little Church ; and those within its fold, like the 
Jansenists, led the strictly ordered lives that appear to be a 
first necessity of existence in all proscribed and persecuted 
sects. Many Jansenist families had joined the Little Church. 


224 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


The family to which this young girl belonged had embraced 
the equally rigid doctrines of both these Puritanisms, tenets 
which impart a stern dignity to the character and mien of 
those who hold them, It is the nature of positive doctrine to 
exaggerate the importance of the most ordinary actions of 
life by connecting them with ideas of a future existence. 
This is the source of a splendid and delicate purity of heart, 
a respect for others and for self, of an indescribably keen sense 
of right and wrong, a wide charity, together with a justice so 
stern that it might well be called inexorable, and, lastly, a per- 
fect hatred of lies and of all the vices comprised by falsehood. 

‘*T can recall no more delightful moments than those of 
our first meeting at my old friend’s house. I beheld for the 
first time this shy young girl with her sincere nature, her 
habits of ready obedience. All the virtues peculiar to the 
sect to which she belonged shone in her, but she seemed to be 
unconscious of her merit. There was a grace, which no 
austerity could diminish, about every movement of her lissome, 
slender form; her quiet brow, the delicate grave outlines of 
her face, and her clearly-cut features indicated noble birth; 
her expression was gentle and proud; her thick hair had been 
simply braided, the coronet of plaits about her head served, 
all unknown to her, as an adornment. Captain, she was for 
me the ideal type that is always made real for us in the woman 
with whom we fall in love ; for when we love, is it not because 
we recognize beauty that we have dreamed of, the beauty that 
has existed in idea for us is realized? When I spoke to her, 
she answered simply, without shyness or eagerness; she did 
not know what a pleasure it was to me to see her, to hear the 
musical sounds of her voice. All these angels are revealed to 
our hearts by the same signs; by the sweetness of their tones, 
the tenderness in their eyes, by their fair, pale faces, and their 
gracious ways. All these things are so blended and mingled 
that we feel the charm of their presence, yet cannot tell in 
what that charm consists, and every movement is an expression 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR'S CONFESSION. 225 


a 


of a divine soul within. I loved passionately. This newly- 
awakened love satisfied all my restless longings, all my ambi- 
tious dreams. She was beautiful, wealthy, and nobly born; 
she had been carefully brought up; she had all the qualifica- 
tions which the world positively demands of a woman placed 
in the high position which I desired to reach; she had been 
well educated, she expressed herself with a sprightly facility at 
once rare and common in France; where the most prettily- 
worded phrases of many women are emptiness itself, while her 
bright talk was full of sense. Above all, she had a deep con- 
sciousness of her own dignity which made others respect her ; 
I know of no more excellent thing in a wife. I must stop, 
captain ; no one can describe the woman he loves save very 
imperfectly, pre-existent mysteries which defy analysis lie 
between them. 

‘“T very soon took my old friend into my confidence. He 
introduced me to her family, and gave me the countenance of 
his honorable character. I was received at first with the frigid 
politeness characteristic of those exclusive people who never 
forsake those whom they have once admitted to their friend- 
ship. As time went on they welcomed me almost as one 
of the family; this mark of their esteem was won by my be- 
havior in the matter. In spite of my passionate love, I did 
nothing that could lower me in my own eyes ; I did not cringe, 
I paid no court to those upon whom my fate depended, before 
all things I showed myself a man, and not other than I really 
was. When I was well known to them, my old friend, who 
was as desirous as I myself that my life of melancholy loneli- 
ness should come to an end, spoke of my hopes and met with 
a favorable reception; but with the diplomatic shrewdness 
which is almost a second nature with men of the world, he was 
silent with regard to an error of my youth, as he termed it. 
He was anxious to bring about a ‘satisfactory marriage’ for 
me, an expression that makes of so solemn an act a business 


transaction in which husband and wife endeavor to cheat each 
15 


226 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


other. In his opinion, the existence of my child would excite 
amoral repugnance, in comparison with which the question 
of money would be as nought, and the whole affair would be 
broken off at once, and he was right. 

<¢¢Tt is a matter which will be very easily settled between 
you and your wife ; it will be easy to obtain her full and free 
forgiveness,’ he said. 

“In short, he tried to silence my scruples, and all the in- 
sidious arguments that worldly wisdom could suggest were 
brought to bear upon me to this end. I will confess to you, 
sir, that, in spite of my promise, my first impulse was to act 
straightforwardly and to make everything known to the head 
of the family, but the thought of his uncompromising sternness 
made me pause, and the probable consequences of the confes- 
sion appalled me ; my courage failed, I temporized with my 
conscience, I determined to wait until I was sufficiently sure 
of the affection of the girl I hoped to win before hazarding 
my happiness by the terrible confession. My resolution to 
acknowledge everything openly, at a convenient season, vin- 
dicated the sophistries of worldly wisdom and the sagacity of 
my old friend. So the young girl’s parents received me as 
their future son-in-law without, as yet, taking their friends 
into their confidence. 

‘¢ An infinite discretion is the distinguishing quality of 
pious families; they are reticent about everything, even about 
matters of no importance. You would not believe, sir, how 
this sedate gravity and reserve, pervading every minor action, 
deepens the current of feeling and thought. Everything in 
that house was done with some useful end in view ; the women 
spent their leisure time in making garments for the poor ; 
their conversation was never frivolous; laughter was not 
banished, but there was a kindly simplicity about their merri- 
ment. Their talk had none of the piquancy which scandal 
and ill-natured gossip give to the conversation of society ; 
only the father and uncle read the newspapers, even the most 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR'S CONFESSION. 227 


harmless journal contains references to crimes or to public 
evils, and she whom I hoped to win had never cast her eyes 
over their sheets. How strange it was, at first, to listen to 
these orthodox people! But in a little while, the pure 
atmosphere left the same impression upon the soul that sub- 
dued colors give to the eyes, a sense of serene repose and of 
tranquil peace. 

**To a superficial observer, their life would have seemed 
terribly monotonous. There was something chilling about 
the appearance of the interior of the house. Day after day 
I used to see everything, even the furniture in constant use, 
always standing in the same place, and this uniform tidiness 
pervaded the smallest details. Yet there was something very 
attractive about their household ways. I had been used to 
the pleasures of variety, to the luxury and stir of life in 
Paris ; it was only when I had overcome my first repugnance 
that I saw the advantages of this existence ; how it lent itself 
to continuity of thought and to involuntary meditation ; how 
a life in which the heart has undisturbed sway seems to widen 
and grow vast as the sea. It is like the life of the cloister, 
where the outward surroundings never vary, and thought is 
thus compelled to detach itself from outward things and to 
turn to the infinite that lies within the soul! 

‘‘For a man as sincerely in love as I was, the silence and 
simplicity of the life, the almost conventual regularity with 
which the same things were done daily at the same hours, 
only deepened and strengthened love. In that profound 
calm the interest attaching to the least action, word, or gesture 
became immense. I learned to know that, in the interchange 
of glances and in answering smiles, there lies an eloquence 
and a variety of language far beyond the possibilities of the 
most magnificent of spoken phrases ; that when the expression 
of the feelings is spontaneous and unforced, there is no idea, 
no joy nor sorrow that cannot thus be communicated by hearts 
that understand each other. How many times I have tried to 


228 PHENCOUNLRNGDOCLOR:. 


set forth my soul in my eyes or on my lips, compelled at once 
to speak and to be silent concerning my passion; for the 
young girl, who, in my presence, was always serene and 
unconscious, had not been informed of the reason of my con- 
stant visits; her parents were determined that the most 
important decision of her life should rest entirely with her. 
But does not the presence of our beloved satisfy the utmost 
desire of passionate love? In that presence do we not know 
the happiness of the Christian who stands before God? If 
for me more than for any other it was torture to have no right 
to give expression to the impulses of my heart, to force back 
into its depths the burning words that treacherously wrong 
the yet more ardent emotions which strive to find an utter- 
ance in speech ; I found, nevertheless, in the merest trifles a 
channel through which my passionate love poured itself forth 
but the more vehemently for this constraint, till every minor 
occurrence came to have an excessive importance. 

<‘T beheld her, not for brief moments, but for whole hours. 
There were pauses between my question and her answer, and 
long musings, when, with the tones of her voice lingering in 
my ears, I sought to divine from them the secret of her inmost 
thoughts ; perhaps her fingers would tremble as I gave her 
some object of which she had been in search, or I would de- 
vise pretexts to lightly touch her dress or her hair, to take her 
hand in mine, to compel her to speak more than she wished ; 
all these nothings were great events for me. Eyes and voice 
and gestures were freighted with mysterious messages of love 
in hours of ecstasy like these, and this was the only language 
permitted me by the quiet maidenly reserve of the young girl 
before me. Her manner towards me underwent no change; 
with me she was always as a sister with a brother; yet, as my 
passion grew, and the contrast between her glances and mine, 
her words and my utterances, became more striking, I felt at 
last that this timid silence was the only means by which she 
could express her feelings. Was she not always in the salon 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR'S CONFESSION. 229 


whenever I came? Did she not stay there until my visit, ex- 
pected and perhaps foreseen, was over? Did not this mute 
tryst betray the secret of her innocent soul? Nay, whilst I 
spoke, did she not listen with a pleasure which she could not 
hide ? 

“At last, no doubt, her parents grew impatient with this 
artless behavior and sober love-making. Iwas almost as timid 
as their daughter, and perhaps on this account found favor in 
their eyes. They regarded me as a man worthy of their es- 
teem. My old friend was taken into their confidence ; both 
father and mother spoke of me in the most flattering terms ; 
I had become their adopted son, and more especially they 
singled out my moral principles for praise. In truth I had 
found my youth again; among these pure and religious sur- 
roundings early beliefs and early faith came back to the man 
of thirty-two. 

‘‘The summer was drawing to aclose. Affairs of some im- 
portance had detained the family in Paris longer than their 
wont ; but when September came, and they were able to leave 
town at last for an estate in Auvergne, her father entreated 
me to spend a couple of months with them in an old chateau 
hidden away among the mountains of the Cantal. I paused 
before accepting this friendly invitation. My hesitation 
brought me the sweetest and most delightful unconscious con- 
fession, a revelation of the mysteries of a girlish heart. Eve- 
lina Dieu /’’ exclaimed Benassis; and he said no more 
for a time, wrapped in his own thoughts, 

‘¢Pardon me, Captain Bluteau,’’ he resumed, after a long 
pause. ‘‘For twelve years I have not uttered the name that 
is always hovering in my thoughts, that a voice calls in my 
hearing even when I sleep. Evelina (since I have named her) 
raised her head with a strange quickness and abruptness, for 
about all her movements there was an instinctive grace and 
gentleness, and looked at me. There was no pride in her 
face, but rather a wistful anxiety. Then her color rose, and 





230 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


her eyelids fell; it gave me an indescribable pleasure never 
felt before that they should fall so slowly ; I could only stam- 
mer out my reply in a faltering voice. The emotion of my 
own heart made swift answer to hers. She thanked me by a 
happy look, and I almost thought that there were tears in her 
eyes. In that moment we had told each other everything. 
So I went into the country with her family. Since the day 
when our hearts had understood each other, nothing seemed 
to be as it had been before ; everything about us had acquired 
a fresh significance. 

‘Love, indeed, is always the same, though our imagination 
determines the shape that love must assume ; like and unlike, 
therefore, is love in every soul in which he dwells, and passion 
becomes a unique work in which the soul expresses its sym- 
pathies. In the old trite saying that love is a projection of 
self—a two in one—lies a profound meaning known only to 
philosopher and poet ; for it is ourself in truth that we love in 
that other. Yet, though love manifests itself in such different 
ways that no pair of lovers since the world began is like any 
other pair before or since, they all express themselves after 
the same fashion, and the same words are on the lips of every 
girl, even of the most innocent, convent-bred maiden—the 
only difference lies in the degree of imaginative charm in 
their ideas. But between Evelina and other girls there was 
this difference, that where another would have poured out her 
feelings quite naturally, Evelina regarded these innocent con- 
fidences as a concession made to the stormy emotions which 
had invaded the quiet sanctuary of her girlish soul. The con- 
stant struggle between her heart and her principles gave to the 
least event of her life, so peaceful in appearance, in reality so 
profoundly agitated, a character of force very superior to the 
exaggerations of young girls whose manners are early rendered 
false by the world about them. All through the journey 
Evelina discovered beauty in the scenery through which we 
passed, and spoke of it with admiration. When we think 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR'S CONFESSION. 231 


that we may not give expression to the happiness which is 
given to us by the presence of one we love, we pour out the 
secret gladness that overflows our hearts upon inanimate 
things, investing them with beauty in our happiness. The 
charm of the scenery which passed before our eyes became 
in this way an interpreter between us, for in our praises of 
the landscape we revealed to each other the secrets of our 
love. Evelina’s mother sometimes took a mischievous pleas- 
ure in disconcerting her daughter. 

«« ¢ My dear child, you have been through this valley a score 
of times without seeming to admire it!’ she remarked aftera 
somewhat too enthusiastic phrase from Evelina. 

<< ¢ No doubt it was because I was not old enough to under- 
stand beauty of this kind, mother.’ 

‘* Forgive me for dwelling on this trifle, which can have no 
charm for you, captain; but the simple words brought me 
an indescribable joy, which had its source in the glance di- 
rected towards me as she spoke. So some village lighted by 
the sunrise, some ivy-covered ruin which we had seen together, 
memories of outward and visible things, served to deepen and 
strengthen the impressions of our happiness ; they seemed to 
be landmarks on the way through which we were passing 
towards a bright future that lay before us. 

«« We reached the chateau belonging to her family, where I 
spent about six weeks, the only time in my life during which 
heaven has vouchsafed complete happiness to me. I enjoyed 
pleasures unknown to town-dwellers—all the happiness which 
two lovers find in living beneath the same roof, an anticipa- 
tion of the life they will spend together. To stroll through 
the fields, to be alone together at times, if we wished it, to 
look over an old water-mill, to sit beneath a tree in some 
lovely glen among the hills, the lovers’ talks, the sweet con- 
fidences drawn forth by which each made some progress day 
by day in the other’s heart. Ah! sir, the out-of-door life, the 
beauty of earth and heaven, is a perfect accompaniment to the 


232 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


complete happiness of the soul! ‘To mingle our careless talk 
with the song of the birds among the dewy leaves, to smile at 
each other as we gazed on the sky, to turn our steps slowly 
homeward at the sound of the bell that always rings too soon, 
to admire together some little detail in the landscape, to watch 
the fitful movements of an insect, to look closely at a gleam- 
ing demoiselle fly—the delicate creature that resembles an 
innocent and loving girl; in such ways as these are not one’s 
thoughts drawn daily a little higher? The memories of my 
forty days of happiness have in a manner colored all the rest 
of my life, memories that are all the fairer and fill the greater 
space in my thoughts, because since then it has been my fate 
never to be understood. To this day there are scenes of no 
special interest for a casual observer, but full of bitter signifi- 
cance for a broken heart, which recall those vanished days, 
and the love that is not forgotten yet. 

‘©T do not know whether you noticed the effect of the sun- 
set light on the cottage where little Jacques lives? Every- 
thing shone so brightly in the fiery rays of the sun, and then 
all at once the whole landscape grew dark and dreary. ‘That 
sudden change was like the change in my own life at this 
time. I received from her the first, the sole and sublime 
token of love that an innocent girl may give; the more 
secretly it is given, the closer is the bond it forms, the sweet 
promise of love, a fragment of the language spoken in a fairer 
world than this. Sure, therefore, of being beloved, I vowed 
that I would confess everything at once, that I would have no 
secrets from her; I felt ashamed that I had so long delayed 
to tell her about the sorrows that I had brought upon myself. 

‘¢Unluckily, with the morrow of this happy day a letter 
came from my son’s tutor, the life of the child so dear to me 
was in danger. I went away without confiding my secret to 
Evelina, merely telling her family that I was urgently required 
in Paris. Her parents took alarm during my absence. They 
feared that there I was entangled in some way, and wrote to 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR'S CONFESSION. 233 


Paris to make inquiries about me. It was scarcely consistent 
with their religious principles; but they suspected me, and 
did not even give me an opportunity of clearing myself. 

‘*One of their friends, without my knowledge, gave them 
the whole history of my youth, blackening my errors, laying 
stress upon the existence of my child, which (said they) I in- 
tended to conceal. I wrote to my future parents, but I 
received no answers to my letters; and when they came back 
to Paris, and I called at their house, I was not admitted. 
Much alarmed, I sent to my old friend to learn the reason of 
this conduct on their part, which I did not in the least under- 
stand. Assoon as the good soul knew the real cause of it all, 
he sacrificed himself generously, took upon himself all the 
blame of my reserve, and tried to exculpate me, but all to no 
purpose. Questions of interest and morality were regarded 
so seriously by the family, their prejudices were so firmly and 
deeply rooted, that they never swerved from their resolution. 
My despair was overwhelming. At first I tried to deprecate 
their wrath, but my letters were sent back to me unopened. 
When every possible means had been tried in vain ; when her 
father and mother had plainly told my old friend (the cause 
of my misfortune) that they would never consent to their 
daughter’s marriage with a man who had upon his conscience 
the death of a woman and the life of a natural son, even 
though Evelina herself should implore them upon her knees ; 
then, sir, there only remained to me one last hope, a hope as 
slender and fragile as the willow-branch at which a drowning 
wretch catches to save himself. 

“J ventured to think that Evelina’s love would be stronger 
than her father’s scruples, that her inflexible parents might 
yield to her entreaties. Perhaps, who knows, her father had 
kept from her the reasons of the refusal, which were so fatalto 
our love. I determined to acquaint her with all the circum- 
stances, and to make a final appeal to her; and in fear and 
trembling, in grief and tears, my first and last love-letter was 


234 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


written. To-day I can only dimly remember the words 
dictated to me by my despair ; but I must have told Evelina 
that if she had dealt sincerely with me she could not and 
ought not to love another, or how could her whole life be 
anything but a lie? she must be false either to her future hus- 
band or to me. Could she refuse to the lover, who had been 
so misjudged and hardly entreated, the devotion which she 
would have shown to him as her husband, if the marriage 
which had already taken place in our hearts had been out- 
wardly solemnized? Was not this to fall from the ideal of 
womanly virtue? What woman would not love to feel that 
the promises of the heart were more sacred and binding than 
the chains forged by the law? I defended my errors; and in 
my appeal to the purity of innocence, I left nothing unsaid 
that could touch a noble and generous nature. But as I am 
telling you everything, I will look for her answer and my fare- 
well letter,’’ said Benassis, and he went up to his room in 
search of it. 

He returned in a few moments with a worn pocketbook ; 
his hands trembled with emotion as he drew from it some 
loose sheets. 

‘* Here is the fatal letter,’’ he said. ‘‘ The girl who wrote 
those lines little knew the value that I should set upon the 
scrap of paper that holds her thoughts. This is the last cry 
that pain wrung from me,’’ he added, taking up a second 
letter; ‘‘I will lay it before you directly. My old friend was 
the bearer of my letter of entreaty; he gave it to her without 
her parents’ knowledge, humbling his white hair to implore 
Evelina to read and to reply to my appeal. This was her 
answer : 

“¢¢ Monsieur ’ But lately I had been her ‘ beloved,’ 
the innocent name she had found by which to express her 
innocent love, and nowshe called me A/onsieur / That one 
word told meeverything. But listen to the rest of the letter— 

‘«« Treachery on the part of one to whom her life was to be 








THE COUNTRY DOCTOR'S CONFESSION. 235 


intrusted is a bitter thing for a girl to discover; and yet I 
could not but excuse you, we areso weak! Your letter touched 
me, but you must not write to me again, the sight of your 
handwriting gives me such unbearable pain. We are parted 
forever. I was carried away by your reasoning ; it extinguished 
all the harsh feelings that had risen up against you in my soul. 
I had been so proud of your truth! But both of us have 
found my father’s reasoning irresistible. Yes, Monsieur, I 
ventured to plead for you. I did for you what I have never 
done before, I overcame the greatest fears that I have ever 
known, and acted almost against my nature. Even now I 
am yielding to your entreaties, and doing wrong for your sake, 
in writing to you without my father’s knowledge. My mother 
knows that I am writing to you; her indulgence in leaving 
me at liberty to be alone with you for a moment has taught 
me the depth of her love for me, and strengthened my deter- 
mination to bow to the decree of my family, against which I 
had almost rebelled. So I am writing to you, Monsieur, for 
the first and last time. You have my full and entire forgiveness 
for the troubles that you have brought into my life. Yes, you 
are right ; a first love can never be forgotten. I am no longer 
an innocent girl; and, as an honest woman, I can never 
marry another. What my future will be, I know not there- 
fore. Only you see, Monsieur, that echoes of this year that 
you have filled will never die away in my life. But I am 
‘T shall always be beloved !’’ 
Why did you write those words? Can they bring peace to 
the troubled soul of a lonely and unhappy girl? Have you 
not already laid waste my future, giving me memories which 
will never cease to revisit me? Henceforth I can only give 
myself to God, but will He accept a broken heart? He has 
had some purpose to fulfil in sending these afflictions to me ; 
doubtless it was His will that I should turn to Him, my only 
refuge here below. Nothing remains to me here upon this 
earth. You have all a man’s ambition wherewith to beguile 





in no way accusing you 


236 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


your sorrows. I do not say this as a reproach ; it is a sort of 
religious consolation. If we both bear a grievous burden at 
this moment, I think that my share of it is the heavier. He 
in whom I have put my trust, and of whom you can feel no 
jealousy, has joined our lives together, and He puts them 
asunder according to his will. I have seen that your relig- 
ious beliefs were not founded upon the pure and living faith 
which alone enables us to bear our woes here below. Mon- 
sieur, if God will vouchsafe to hear my fervent and ceaseless 
prayers, He will cause His light to shine in your soul. Fare- 
well, you who should have been my guide, you whom once I 
had the right to call ‘‘ my beloved,’’ no one can reproach me 
if I pray for you still. God orders our days as it pleases 
Him. Perhaps you may be the first whom He will call to 
himself; but if I am left alone in the world, then, Monsieur, 
intrust the care of the child to me.’ 


‘© This letter, so full of generous sentiments, disappointed 
my hopes,’’ Benassis resumed, ‘so that at first I could think 
of nothing but my misery; afterwards I welcomed the balm 
which, in her forgetfulness of self, she had tried to pour into 
my wounds, but in my first depair I wrote to her somewhat 
bitterly— 

«© ¢Mademoiselle—that word alone will tell you that at 
your bidding I renounce you. ‘There is something inde- 
scribably sweet in obeying one we love, who puts us to the tor- 
ture. You are right, I acquiesce in my condemnation. Once 
I slighted a girl’s devotion; it is fitting, therefore, that my 
love should be rejected to-day. But I little thought that my 
punishment was to be dealt to me by the woman at whose 
feet I had laid my life. I never expected that such harshness, 
perhaps I should say, such rigid virtue, lurked in a heart that 
seemed to be so loving and so tender. At this moment the 
full strength of my love is revealed to me; it has survived the 
most terrible of all trials, the scorn you have shown for me by 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR'S CONFESSION. 237 


severing without regret the ties that bound us. Farewell for 
ever. There still remains to me the proud humility of repent- 
ance: I will find some sphere of life where I can expiate the 
errors to which you, the mediator between heaven and me, 
have shown no mercy. Perhaps God may be less inexorable. 
My sufferings, sufferings full of the thought of you, shall be 
the penance of a heart which will never be healed, which 
will bleed in solitude. For a wounded heart—shadow and 
silence. 

“¢*No other image of love shall be engraven on my heart. 
Though I am not a woman, I feel as you felt, when I said ‘I 
love you,’’ that it was a vow for life. Yes, the words then 
spoken in the ear of ‘‘ my beloved’’ were not a lie ; you would 

_have a right to scorn me if I could change. I shall never 
cease to worship you in my solitude. In spite of the gulf set 
between us, you will still be the mainspring of all my actions, 
and all the virtues are inspired by penitence and love. 
Though you have filled my heart with bitterness, I shall 
never have bitter thoughts of you; would it not be an ill 
beginning of the new tasks that I have set myself if I did not 
purge out all the evil leaven from my soul? Farewell then to 
the one heart that I love in the world, a heart from which I 
am cast out. Never has more feeling and more tenderness 
been expressed in a farewell, for is it not fraught with the life 
and soul of one who can never hope again, and must be 
henceforth as one dead? Farewell. May peace be with 
you, and may all the sorrow of our lot fall to me?’ ”’ 





Benassis and Genestas looked at each other for a moment 
after reading the two letters, each full of sad thoughts, of 
which neither spoke. 

“« As you see, this is only a rough copy of my last letter,’’ 
said Benassis; ‘‘it is all that remains to me to-day of my 
blighted hopes. When I had sent the letter, I fell into an 
indescribable state of depression. All the ties that hold one 


238 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


to life were bound together in the hope of wedded happiness, 
which was henceforth lost to me for ever. I had to bid fare- 
well to the joys of a permitted and acknowledged love, to all 
the generous ideas that had thronged up from the depths of 
my heart. The prayers of a penitent soul that thirsted for 
righteousness and for all things lovely and of good report 
had been rejected by these religious people. At first, the 
wildest resolutions and most frantic thoughts surged through 
my mind, but happily for me the sight of my son brought self- 
control. I felt all the more strongly drawn towards him for 
the misfortunes of which he was the innocent cause, and for 
which I had in reality only myself to blame. In him I found 
all my consolation. 

‘‘At the age of thirty-four I might still hope to do my 
country noble service. I determined to make a name for my- 
self, a name so illustrious that no one should remember the 
stain on the birth of my son. How many noble thoughts I 
owe to him! How full a life I led in those days while I was 
absorbed in planning out his future! I feel stifled,’’ cried 
Benassis. ‘‘All this happened eleven years ago, and yet to this 
day I cannot bear to think of that fatal year. My child 
died, sir ; I lost him! ”’ 

The doctor was silent, and hid his face in his hands: when 
he was somewhat calmer he raised his head again, and Genestas 
saw that his eyes were full of tears. 

** At first it seemed as if this thunderbolt had uprooted 
me,’’ Benassis resumed. ‘‘It was a blow from which I could 
only expect to recover after I had been transplanted into a 
different soil from that of the social world in which I lived. 
It was not till some time afterwards that I saw the finger of 
God in my misfortunes, and later still that I learned to submit 
to His will and to hearken to His voice. It was impossible 
that resignation should come to me all at once. My im- 
petuous and fiery nature broke out in a final storm of rebellion. 

‘It was long before I brought myself to take the only step 





THE COUN1IRY DOCTOR'S CONFESSION. 239 


befitting a Catholic, indeed my thoughts ran on suicide. This 
succession of misfortunes had contributed to develop mel- 
ancholy feelings in me, and I deliberately determined to take 
my own life. It seemed to me that it was permissible to take 
leave of life when life was ebbing fast. There was nothing 
unnatural, I thought, about suicide. The ravages of mental 
distress affected the soul of man in the same way that acute 
physical anguish affected the body; and an intelligent being, 
suffering from a moral malady, had surely a right to destroy 
himself, a right he shares with the sheep, that, fallen a victim 
to the ‘staggers,’ beats its head against a tree. Were the soul’s 
diseases in truth more readily cured than those of the body? 
I scarcely think so, to this day. Nor do I know which is the 
more craven soul—he who hopes even when hope is no longer 
possible, or he who despairs. Death is the natural termination 
of a physical malady, and it seemed to me that suicide was the 
final crisis in the sufferings of a mind diseased, for it was in 
the power of the will to end them when reason showed that 
death was preferable to life. So it is not the pistol, but a 
thought that puts an end to our existence. Again, when fate 
may suddenly lay us low in the midst of a happy life, can we 
be blamed for ourselves refusing to bear a life of misery ? 

** But my reflections during that time of mourning turned 
on loftier themes. The grandeur of pagan philosophy attracted 
me, and for a while I became a convert. In my efforts to dis- 
cover new rights for man, I thought that with the aid of 
modern thought I could penetrate further into the questions to 
which those old-world systems of philosophy had furnished 
solutions, 

*¢Epicurus permitted suicide. Was it not the natural oui 
come of his system of ethics? The gratification of the 
senses was to be obtained at any cost ; and when this became 
impossible, the easiest and best course was for the animate 
being to return to the repose of inanimate nature. Happi- 
ness, or the hope of happiness, was the one end for which 


240 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


man existed, for one who suffered, and who suffered without 
hope, death ceased to be an evil, and became a good, and 
suicide became a final act of wisdom. This act Epicurus 
neither blamed nor praised; he was content to say as he 
poured a libation to Bacchus, ‘ As for death, there is nothing 
in death to move our laughter or our tears.’ 

‘‘With a loftier morality than that of the Epicureans, and 
a sterner sense of man’s duties, Zeno and the Stoic philoso- 
phers prescribed suicide in certain cases to their followers. 
They reasoned thus: Man differs from the brute in that he 
has the sovereign right to dispose of his person; take away 
this power of life and death over himself, and he becomes the 
plaything of fate, the slave of other men. Rightly under- 
stood, this power of life and death is a sufficient counterpoise 
for all the ills of life ; the same power when conferred upon 
another, upon his fellow-man, leads to tyranny of every kind. 
Man has no power whatever unless he has unlimited freedom 
of action. Suppose that he has been guilty of some irrepar- 
able error, from the shameful consequences of which there is 
no escape; a sordid nature swallows down the disgrace and 
survives it, the wise man drinks the hemlock and dies. Sup- 
pose that the remainder of life is to be one constant struggle 
with the gout which racks our bones, or with a gnawing and 
disfiguring cancer, the wise man dismisses quacks, and at the 
proper moment bids a last farewell to the friends whom he 
only saddens by his presence. Or another perhaps has fallen 
alive into the hands of the tyrant against whom he fought. 
What shall he do? The oath of allegiance is tendered to 
him; he must either subscribe or stretch out his neck to the 
executioner ; the fool takes the latter course, the coward sub- 
scribes, the wise man strikes a last blow for liberty—in his 
own heart. ‘ You who are free,’ the Stoic was wont to say, 
‘know then how to preserve your feedom! Find freedom 
from your own passions by sacrificing them to duty, freedom 
from the tyranny of mankind by pointing to the sword or the 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR'S CONFESSION. 241 


poison which will put you beyond their reach, freedom from 
the bondage of fate by determining the point beyond which 
you will endure it no longer, freedom of mind by shaking off 
the trammels of prejudice, and freedom from physical fear by 
learning how to subdue the gross instinct which causes so 
many wretches to cling to life.’ ‘ 

“« After I had unearthed this reasoning from among a heap 
of ancient philosophical writings, I sought to reconcile it with 
Christian teaching. God has bestowed free-will upon us in 
order to require of us an account hereafter before the throne 
of judgment. ‘I will plead my cause there!’ I said to my- 
self. But such thoughts as these led me to think of a life after 
death, and my old shaken beliefs rose up before me. Human 
life grows solemn when all eternity hangs upon the slightest 
of our decisions. When the full meaning of this thought is 
realized, the soul becomes conscious of something vast and 
mysterious within itself, by which it is drawn towards the 
Infinite ; the aspect of all things alters strangely. From this 
point of view life is something infinitely great and infinitely 
little. The consciousness of my sins had never made me 
think of heaven so long as hope remained to me on earth, so 
long as I could find a relief for my woes in work and in the 
society of other men. I had meant to make the happiness of 
a woman’s life, to love, to be the head of a family, and in 
this way my need of expiation would have been satisfied to 
the full. This design had been thwarted, but yet another 
way had remained to me: 

‘¢T would devote myself henceforward to my child. But 
after these two efforts had failed, and scorn and death had 
darkened my soul for ever, when all my feelings had been 
wounded and nothing was left to me here on earth, I raised 
my eyes to heaven, and beheld God. 

«Yet still I tried to obtain the sanction of religion for my 
death. I went carefully through the Gospels, and found no 
passage in which suicide was sanctioned ; but during the read- 

16 


242 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


ing the divine thought of Christ, the Saviour of men, dawned 
in me. Certainly He had said nothing about the immortality 
of the soul, but He had spoken of the glorious kingdom of 
His Father; He had nowhere sanctioned parricide, but He 
condemned all that was evil. The glory of His evangelists, 
and the proof: of their divine mission, is not so much that 
they made laws for the world, but that they spread a new 
spirit abroad, and the new laws were filled with this new 
spirit. The very courage which a man displays in taking his 
own life seemed to me to be his condemnation; so long as 
he felt that he had within himself sufficient strength to die by 
his own hands, he ought to have had strength enough to con- 
tinue the struggle. To refuse to suffer is a sign of weakness 
rather than of courage, and, moreover, was it not a sort of 
recusance to take leave of life in despondency, an abjuration 
of the Christian faith which is based upon the sublime words 
of Jesus Christ, ‘ Blessed are they that mourn.’ 

««So, in any case, suicide seemed to me to be an unpardon- 
able error, even in the man who, through a false conception 
of greatness of soul, takes his life a few moments before the 
executioner’s axe falls. In humbling himself to the death of 
the cross, did not Jesus Christ set for us an example of obed- 
ience to all human laws, even when carried out unjustly ? 
The word ‘resignation’ engraved upon the cross, so clear to 
the eyes of those who can read the sacred characters in which 
it is traced, shone for me with divine brightness. 


‘*T still had eighty thousand francs in my possession, and at 
first I meant to live a retired and solitary life, to vegetate in 
some country district for the rest of my days ; but misanthropy 
is no Catholic virtue, and there is a certain vanity lurking be- 
neath the hedgehog’s skin of the misanthrope. His heart 
does not bleed, it shrivels, and my heart bled from every vein. 
I thought of the discipline of the Church, the refuge that she 
affords to sorrowing souls, understood at last the beauty of a 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR'S CONFESSION. 243 


life of prayer in solitude, and was fully determined to ‘ enter 
religion,’ in the grand old phrase. So far my intentions were 
firmly fixed, but I had not yet decided on the best means of 
carrying them out. I realized the remains of my fortune, and 
set forth on my journey with an almost tranquil mind. Peace 
im God was a hope that could never fail me. 

*‘T felt drawn to the rule of Saint Bruno, and made the 
journey to the Grande Chartreuse on foot, absorbed in 
solemn thoughts. That was a memorable day. I was not 
prepared for the grandeur of the scenery; the workings of an 
unknown power greater than that of man were visible at every 
step, the overhanging crags, the precipices on either hand, the 
stillness only broken by the voices of the mountain streams, 
the sternness and wildness of the landscape, relieved here and 
there by nature’s fairest creations, pine trees that have stood 
for centuries, and delicate rock plants at their feet, all com- 
bined to produce sober musings. There seemed to be no end 
to this waste solitude, shut in by its lofty mountain barriers. 
The idle curiosity of man could scarcely penetrate there. It 
would be difficult to cross this melancholy desert of Saint 
Bruno’s with a light heart. 

‘‘T saw the Grande Chartreuse. I walked beneath the 
vaulted roofs of the ancient cloisters, and heard in the silence 
the sound of the water from the spring, falling drop by drop. 
I entered a cell that I might the better realize my own utter 
nothingness, something of the peace that my predecessor had 
found there seemed to pass into my soul, An inscription, 
which in accordance with the custom of the monastery he had 
written above his door, impressed and touched me; all the 
precepts of the life that I meant to lead were there, summed 
up in three Latin words—/uge, /ate, tace.”’ 

Genestas bent his head as if he understood. 

“My decision was made,’’ Benassis resumed. ‘‘ The cell 
with its deal wainscot, the hard bed, the solitude, all appealed 
to my soul. The Carthusians were in the chapel; I went 


244 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


thither to join in their prayers, and there my resolutions 
vanished. Ido not wish to criticise the Catholic Church, I 
am perfectly orthodox, I believe in its laws and in the works 
it prescribes. But when I heard the chanting and the prayers 
of those old men, dead to the world and forgotten by the 
world, I discerned an undercurrent of sublime egoism in the 
life of the cloister. This withdrawal from the world could 
only benefit the individual soul, and after all what was it but 
a protracted suicide? I do not condemn it. The Church 
has opened these tombs in which life is buried; no doubt 
they are needful for those few Christians who are absolutely 
useless to the world; but for me, it would be better, I 
thought, to live among my fellows, to devote my life of 
expiation to their service. 

“*As I returned I thought long and carefully over the vari- 
ous ways iy which I could carry out my vow of renunciation. 
Already I began, in fancy, to lead the life of a common 
sailor, condemning myself to serve our country in the lowest 
ranks, #nd giving up all my intellectual ambitions; but 
though it was a life of toil and of self-abnegation, it seemed 
to me that I ought to do more than this. Should I not 
thwart the designs of God by leading such a life? If He had 
given me intellectual ability, was it not my duty to employ it 
for the good of my fellow-men? ‘Then, besides, if I am to 
speak frankly, I felt within me a need of my fellow-men, an 
indescribable wish to help them. The round of mechanical 
duties and the routine tasks of the sailor afforded no scope 
for this desire, which is as much an outcome of my nature as 
the characteristic scent that a flower breathes forth. 

‘IT was obliged to spend the night here, as I have already 
told you. The wretched condition of the countryside had 
filled me-with pity, and during the night it seemed as if these 
thoughts had been sent to me by God, and that thus He had 
revealed His will to me. I had known something of the joys 
that pierce the heart, the happiness and the sorrow of mother- 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR'S CONFESSION. 2465 


hood ; I determined that henceforth my life should be filled 
with these, but that mine should be a wider sphere than a 
mother’s. I would expend her care and kindness on a whole 
district ; I would be a sister of charity, and bind the wounds 
of all the suffering poor in a countryside. It seemed to me 
that the finger of God unmistakably pointed out my destiny; 
and when I remembered that my first serious thoughts in 
youth had inclined me to the study of medicine, I resolved 
to settle here as a doctor. Besides, I had another reason. 
‘Fora wounded heart—shadow and silence ;’ so I had written 
in my letter; and I meant to fulfil the vow which I had made 
to myself. 

“‘So I have entered into the paths of silence and submis- 
sion. The fuge, /ate, face of the Carthusian brother is my 
motto here, my death to the world is the life of this canton, 
my prayer takes the form of the active work to which I have set 
my hand, and which I love—the work of sowing the seeds of 
happiness and joy, of giving to others what I myself have not. 

‘‘T have grown so used to this life, completely out of the 
world and among the peasants, that I am thoroughly trans- 
formed. Even my face is altered ; it has been so continually 
exposed to the sun that it has grown wrinkled and weather- 
beaten. I have fallen into the habits of the peasants; I have 
assumed their dress, their ways of talking, their gait, their 
easy-going negligence, their utter indifference to appearances. 
My old acquaintances in Paris, or the she-coxcombs on whom 
I used to dance attendance, would be puzzled to recognize in 
me the man who had a certain vogue in his day, the sybarite 
accustomed to all the splendor, luxury, and finery of Paris. 
I have come to be absolutely indifferent to my surroundings, 
like all those who are possessed by one thought, and have 
only one object in view; for I have but one aim in life—to 
take leave of it as soon as possible. Ido not want to hasten 
my end in any way; but some day, when illness comes, I 
shall lie down to die without regret. 


246 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


“There, sir, you have the whole story of my life until I 
came here—told in all sincerity. I have not attempted to 
conceal any of my errors; they have been great, though 
others have erred as I have erred. I have suffered greatly, 
and I am suffering still, but I look beyond this life to a happy 
future which can only be reached through sorrow. And yet, 
for all my resignation, there are moments when my courage 
fails me. ‘This very day I was almost overcome in your pres- 
ence by inward anguish; you did not notice it, but oe 

Genestas started in his chair. 

‘*Ves, Captain Bluteau, you were with me at the time. 
Do you remember how, while we were putting little Jacques 
to bed, you pointed to the mattress on which Mother Colas 
sleeps? Well, you can imagine how painful it all was; I can 
never see any child without thinking of the dear child I have 
lost, and this little one was doomed to die! I can never see 
a child with indifferent eyes “ 

Genestas turned pale. 

*‘Yes, the sight of the little golden heads, the innocent 
beauty of children’s faces always awakens memories of my 
sorrows, and the old anguish returns afresh. Now and then, 
too, there comes the intolerable thought that so many people 
here should thank me for what little I can do for them, when 
all that I have done has been prompted by remorse. You 
alone, captain, know the secret of my life. If I had drawn 
my will to serve them from some purer source than the mem- 
ory of my errors, I should be happy indeed! But then, too, 
there would have been nothing to tell you, and no story about 
myself.”’ 











Vv. 
ELEGIES. 


As Benassis finished his story, he was struck by the troubled 
expression of the officer’s face. It touched him to have been 
so well understood. He was almost ready to reproach him- 
self for having distressed his visitor. He spoke— 

‘¢ But these troubles of mine, Captain Bluteau 

“‘ Do not call me Captain Bluteau,’’ cried Genestas, break- 
ing in upon the doctor, and springing to his feet with sudden 
energy, a change of position that seemed to be prompted by 
inward dissatisfaction of some kind. ‘‘ There is no such 
person as Captain Bluteau I am a scoundrel !”’ 

With no little astonishment, Benassis beheld Genestas 
pacing to and fro in the salon, like a bumble-bee in quest of 
an exit from the room which he has incautiously entered. 

‘¢Then who are you, sir?’’ inquired Benassis. 

‘© Ah! there now,’’ the officer answered, as he turned and 
took his stand before the doctor, though he lacked courage to 
look at his friend. ‘‘I have deceived you!’’ he went on 
(and there was a change in his voice). ‘‘I have acted a lie 
for the first time in my life, and I am well punished for it ; 
for after this I cannot explain why I came here to play the 
spy upon you, confound it! Ever since I have had a glimpse 
of your soul, so to speak, I would far sooner have taken a box 
on the ear whenever I heard you call me Captain Bluteau! 
Perhaps you may forgive me for this subterfuge, but I shall 
never forgive myself; I, Pierre Joseph Genestas, who would 
not lie to save my life before a court-martial ! ’”’ 

‘¢Are you Commandant Genestas ?’’ cried Benassis, rising 
to his feet. He grasped the officer’s hand warmly, and added: 
‘« As you said but a short time ago, sir, we were friends before 

(247) 


7? 








248 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


we knew each other. I have been very anxious to make your 
acquaintance, for I have often heard M. Gravier speak of you. 
He used to call you ‘ one of Plutarch’s men.’ ”’ 

“‘Plutarch ? Nothing of the sort!’’ answered Genestas. 
‘¢T am not worthy of you; I could thrash myself. I ought to 
have told you my secret in a straightforward way at the first. 
Yet no! It is quite as well that I wore a mask, and came 
here myself in search of information concerning you, for now 
I know that I must hold my tongue. If I had set about this 
business in the right fashion it would have been painful to 
you, and God forbid that I should give you the slightest 
annoyance.”’ 

«¢ But I do not understand you, commandant.”’ 

‘‘Let the matter drop. I am not ill; I have spent a pleasant 
day, and I will go back to-morrow. Whenever you come to 
Grenoble, you will find that you have one more friend there, 
who will be your friend through thick and thin. Pierre 
Joseph Genestas’ sword and purse are at your disposal, and I 
am yours to the last drop of my blood. Well, after all, your 
words have fallen on good soil. When I am pensioned off, I 
will look for some out-of-the-way little place, and be mayor of 
it, and try to follow your example. I have not your knowl- 
edge, but I will study at any rate.”’ 

‘© You are right, sir; the landowner who spends his time in 
convincing a commune of the folly of some mistaken notion 
of agriculture confers upon his country a benefit quite as great 
as any that the most skilful physician can bestow. The latter 
lessens the sufferings of some few individuals, and the former 
heals the wounds of his country. But you have excited my 
curiosity to no common degree. Is there really something in 
which I can be of use to you?”’ 

‘*Of use ?’’ repeated the commandant in an altered voice. 
** Mon Dieu ! \ was about to ask you to do me a service which 
is all but impossible, M. Benassis. Just listen a moment! I 
have killed a good many Christians in my time, it is true; 


ELEGIES. 249 


but you may kill people and keep a good heart for all that ; 
so there are some things that I can feel and understand, rough 
as I look.”’ 

«‘But go on!”’ 

<‘No, I do not want to give you any pain if I can help it.”’ 

<¢Oh! commandant, I can bear a great deal.’’ 

‘Tt is a question of a child’s life, sir,’’ said the officer, 
nervously. 

Benassis suddenly knitted his brows, but by a gesture he 
entreated Genestas to continue. 

‘¢A child,’’ repeated the commandant, ‘‘ whose life may yet 
be saved by constant watchfulness and incessant care. Where 
could I expect to find a doctor capable of devoting himself to 
a single patient? Not in a town, that muchiscertain. I had 
heard you spoken of as an excellent man, but I wished to be 
quite sure that this reputation was well founded. So before 
putting my little charge into the hands of this M. Benassis of 
whom people spoke so highly, I wanted to study him myself. 
But now a 

‘‘Enough,”’ said the doctor; ‘‘so this child is yours ?”’ 

‘*No, no, M. Benassis. To clear up the mystery, I should 
have to tell you a long story, in which I do not exactly play 
the part of a hero; but you have given me your confidence, 
and I can readily give you mine.”’ 

‘<One moment, commandant,’’ said the doctor. In answer 
to his summons, Jacquotte appeared at once, and her master 
ordered tea. ‘‘ You see, commandant, at night when every 
one is sleeping, I do not sleep. The thought of my 
troubles lies heavily on me, and then I try to forget them by 
taking tea. It produces a sort of nervous inebriation—a kind 
of slumber, without which I could not live. Do you still de- 
cline to take it ?”’ 

‘‘For my own part,’’ said Genestas, ‘‘I prefer your Her- 
mitage.”’ 

‘By all means. Jacquotte,’’ said Benassis, turning to his 








250 THE COUNTRY: DOCTOR. 


housekeeper, ‘‘ bring in some wine and biscuits. We will 
both of us have our night-cap after our separate fashions.’’ 

‘¢ That tea must be very bad for you! ’’ Genestas remarked. 

“‘It brings on horrid attacks of gout, but I cannot break 
myself of the habit, it is too soothing; it procures for me a 
brief respite every night, a few moments during which life 
becomes less of a burden Come. Iam listening ; perhaps 
your story will efface the painful impressions left by the mem- 
ories that I have just recalled.’’ 

Genestas set down his empty glass upon the chimney-piece. 
‘‘After the retreat from Moscow,’’ he said, ‘‘my regiment 
was stationed to recruit for a while in a little town in Poland. 
We were quartered there, in fact, till the Emperor returned, 
and we bought up horses at long prices. So far so good. I 
ought to say that I had a friend in those days. More than 
once during the retreat I had owed my life to him. He was 
a quartermaster, Renard by name; we could not but be like 
brothers (military discipline apart) after what he had done for 
me. They billeted us on the same house, a sort of shanty, a 
rat-hole of a place where a whole family lived, though you 
would not have thought there was room to stable a horse. 
This particular hovel belonged to some Jews who carried on 
their six-and-thirty trades in it. The frost had not so stiffened 
the old father Jew’s fingers but that he could count gold fast 
enough; he had thriven uncommonly during our reverses. 
That sort of gentry lives in squalor and dies in gold. 

‘«« There were cellars underneath (lined with wood of course, 
the whole house was built of wood); they had stowed their 
children away down there, and one more particularly, a girl 
of seventeen, as handsome as a Jewess can be when she keeps 
herself tidy and has not fair hair. She was as white as snow, 
she had eyes like velvet, and dark lashes to them like rats’ 
tails; her hair was so thick and glossy that it made you long 
to stroke it. She was perfection and nothing less! Iwas the 
first to discover this curious arrangement. I was walking up 





ELEGIES. 251 


and down outside one evening, smoking my pipe, after they 
thought Ihad gone to bed. The children came in helter-skelter, 
tumbling over one another like so many puppies. It was fun 
to watch them. Then they had supper with their father and 
mother. I strained my eyes to see the young Jewess through 
the clouds of smoke that her father blew from his pipe; she 
looked like a new gold-piece among a lot of copper coins. 

**T had never reflected about love, my dear Benassis, I had 
never had time; but now at the sight of this young girl I lost 
my heart and head and everything else at once, and then it was 
plain to me that I had never been in love before. I was hard 
hit, and over head and ears in love. There I stayed smoking 
my pipe, absorbed in watching the Jewess until she blew out 
the candle and went to bed. I could not close my eyes. The 
whole night long I walked up and down the street smoking 
my pipe and refilling it from time to time. I had never felt 
like that before, and for the first and last time in my life I 
thought of marrying. 

‘At daybreak I saddled my horse and rode out in the 
country, to clear my head. I kept him at a trot for two 
mortal hours, and all but foundered the animal before I 


”? 





noticed it 

Genestas stopped short, looked at his new friend uneasily, 
and said, ‘‘ You must excuse me, Benassis, I am no orator; 
things come out just as theyturn up in my mind. Inaroom 
full of fine folk I should feel awkward, but here in the country 
with you " 

“Go on,”’ said the doctor. 

‘When I came back to my room I found Renard finely 
flustered. He thought I had fallen in a duel. He was clean- 
ing his pistols, his head full of schemes for fastening a quar- 
rel on any one who should have turned me off into the 
dark Oh! that was just the fellow’s way! I confided my 
story to Renard, showed him the kennel where the children 
were ; and, as my comrade understood the jargon that those 








252 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


heathens talked, I begged him to help me to lay my proposals 
before her father and mother, and to try to arrange some kind 
of communication between me and Judith. Judith they 
called her. In short, sir, for a fortnight the Jew and his wife 
so arranged matters that we supped every night with Judith, 
and for a fortnight I was the happiest of men. You under- 
stand and you know how it was, so I shall not wear out your 
patience ; still, if you do not smoke, you cannot imagine how 
pleasant it was to smoke a pipe at one’s ease with Renard and 
the girl’s father and one’s princess there before one’s eyes. 
Oh! yes, it was very pleasant ! 

“But I ought to tell you that Renard was a Parisian, and 
depended on his father, a wholesale grocer, who had educated 
his son with a view to making a notary of him; so Renard 
had come by a certain amount of book learning before he had 
been drawn by the conscription and had to bid his desk good- 
bye. Add to this that he was the kind of man who looks well 
in a uniform, with a face like a girl’s, and a thorough knowl- 
edge of the art of wheedling people. It was Ae whom Judith 
loved; she cared about as much for me as a horse cares for 
roast fowls. Whilst I was in the seventh heaven, soaring 
above the clouds at the bare sight of Judith, my friend Renard 
(who, as you see, fairly deserved his name) was making a way 
for himself underground. The traitor arrived at an under- 
standing with the girl, and to such good purpose that they 
were married forthwith after the custom of her country, with- 
out waiting for permission, which would have been too long 
in coming. He promised her, however, that if it should 
happen that the validity of this marriage was afterwards called 
in question, they were to be married again according to 
French law. As a matter of fact, as soon as she reached 
France, Mme. Renard became Mlle. Judith once more. 

‘* Tf I had known all this, I would have killed Renard then 
and there, without giving him time to draw another breath; 
but the father, the mother, the girl herself, and the quarter- 


ELEGIES. 253 


master were all in the plot like thieves in a fair. While I was 
smoking my pipe, and worshiping Judith asif she had been 
one of the saints above, the worthy Renard was arranging to 
meet her, and managing this piece of business very cleverly 
under my very eyes. 

‘* You are the only person to whom I have told this story. 
A disgraceful thing, Icall it. I have always asked myself how 
it is that a man who would die of shame if he took a gold coin 
that did not belong to him, does not scruple to rob a friend 
of happiness and life and the woman he loves. My birds, in 
fact, were married and happy ; and there was I, every evening 
at supper, moonstruck, gazing at Judith, responding like some 
fellow in a farce to the looks she threw at me in order to throw 
dust in my eyes. ‘They have paid uncommonly dear for all 
this deceit, as you will certainly think. On my conscience, 
God pays more attention to what goes on in this world than 
some of us imagine. 

<¢Down come the Russians upon us, the country is overrun, 
and the campaign of 1813 begins in earnest. One fine morn- 
ing comes an order ; we are to be on the battlefield of Liitzen 
by astated hour. The Emperor knew quite well what he was 
about when he ordered us to start at once. The Russians had 
turned our flank. Our colonel must needs get himself into a 
scrape, by choosing that moment to take leave of a Polish 
lady who lived outside the town, a quarter of a mile away; 
the Cossack advanced guard just caught him nicely, him and 
his picket. There was scarcely time to spring into our saddles 
and draw up before the town so as to engage in a cavalry 
skirmish. We must check the Russian advance if we meant 
to draw off during the night. Again and again we charged, 
and for three hours we did wonders. Under cover of the 
fighting the baggage and artillery set out. We had a park of 
artillery and great stores of powder, of which the Emperor 
stood in desperate need ; they must reach him at all costs. 

‘¢ Our resistance deceived the Russians, who thought at first 


254 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


that we were supported by an army corps; but before very 
long they learned their error from their scouts, and knew that 
they had only a single regiment of cavalry to deal with and 
the invalided foot soldiers in the depdt. On finding it out, 
sir, they made a murderous onslaught on us towards evening ; 
the action was so hot that a goodly number of us were left on 
the field. We were completely surrounded. I was by 
Renard’s side in the front rank, and I saw how my friend 
fought and charged lke a demon; he was thinking of his 
wife. Thanks to him, we managed to regain the town, which 
our invalids had put more or less in a state of defence, but it 
was pitiful to see it. We were the last to return—he and I. 
A body of Cossacks appeared in our way, and on this we rode 
in hot haste. One of the savages was about to run me through 
with a lance, when Renard, catching a sight of his manceuvre, 
thrust his horse between us to turn aside the blow; his poor 
brute, a fine animal it was upon my word, received the lance- 
thrust and fell, bringing down both Renard and the Cossack 
with him. I killed the Cossack, seized Renard by the arm, 
and laid him crosswise before me on my horse like a sack of 
wheat. 

“<¢ Good-bye, captain,’ Renard said ; ‘it is all over with 
me.’ 

<©¢Not yet,’ I answered; ‘I must have a look at you.’ 
We had reached the town by that time; I dismounted, and 
propped him up on a little straw by the corner of a house. A 
bad wound in the head had laid open the brain, and yet he 
spoke! Oh! he was a brave man. 

“¢«We are quits,’ he said. ‘I have given you my life, and 
I had taken Judith from you. Take care of her and of her 
child, if she has one. And not only so—you must marry 
her.’ 

“‘T left him then and there, sir, like a dog; when the 
first fury of anger left me, and I went back again—he 
was dead. ‘The Cossacks had set fire to the town, and the 





























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ELEGIES. 255 


thought of Judith then came to my mind. I went in search 
of her, took her up behind me in the saddle, and, thanks to 
my swift horse, caught up the regiment which was effecting its 
retreat. As for the Jew and his family, there was not one of 
them left, they had all disappeared like rats ; there was no one 
but Judith in the house, waiting alone there for Renard. At 
first, as you can understand, I told her not a word of all that 
had happened. 

‘‘So it befell that all through the disastrous campaign of 
1813 I had a woman to look after, to find quarters for her, and 
to see that she was comfortable. She scarcely knew, I| think, 
the straits to which we were reduced. I was always careful to 
keep her ten leagues ahead of us as we drew back towards 
France. Her boy was born while we were fighting at Hanau. 
I was wounded in the engagement, and only rejoined 
Judith at Strasburg; then I returned to Paris, for, unluckily, 
I was laid up all through the campaign in France. If it had 
not been for that wretched mishap, I should have entered the 
Grenadier Guards, and then the Emperor would have pro- 
moted me, As it was, sir, I had three broken ribs and another 
man’s wife and child to support! My pay, as you can imag- 
ine, was not exactly the wealth of the Indies. Renard’s 
father, the toothless old shark, would have nothing to say to 
his daughter-in-law; and the old father Jew had made off. 
Judith was fretting herself to death. She cried one morning 
while she was dressing my wound. 

‘< Judith,’ I said, ‘ your child has nothing whatever in this 
world : 

<¢ Neither have I!’ she said. 

<¢<Pshaw!’ I answered, ‘ we will send for all the necessary 
papers, I will marry you; and as for his child, I will look on 
him as mine ’ Tcould not say any more. 

‘«<Ah, my dear sir, what would not one do for the look by 
which Judith thanked me—a look of thanks from dying eyes ; 
I saw clearly that I had loved and should love her always, 








256 THE. COUNTRY RDOCTOR: 


and from that day her child found a place in my heart. She 
died, poor woman, while the father and mother Jews and the 
papers were on the way. ‘The day before she died, she found 
strength enough to rise and dress herself for her wedding, to go 
through all the usual performance, and set her name to their 
pack of papers ; then, when her child had a name and a father, 
she went back to her bed again; I kissed’ her hands and her 
forehead, and she died. - 

‘©That was my wedding. ‘Two days later, when I had 
bought the few feet of earth in which the poor girl is laid, I 
found myself the father of an orphan child. I put him out to 
nurse during the campaign of 1815. Ever since that time, 
without letting any one know my story, which did not sound 
very well, I have looked after the little rogue as if he were my 
own child. I don’t know what became of his grandfather ; 
he is wandering about, a ruined man, somewhere or other 
between Russia and Persia. The chances are that he may 
make a fortune some day, for he seemed to understand the 
trade in precious stones. 

‘<I sent the child to school. I wanted him to take a good 
place at the Ecole Polytechnique and to see him graduate 
there with credit, so of late I have had him drilled in mathe- 
matics to such good purpose that the poor little soul has been 
knocked up by it. He has a delicate chest. By all I can 
make out from the doctors in Paris, there would be some hope 
for him still if he were allowed to run wild among the hills, 
if he was properly cared for, and constantly looked after by 
somebody who was willing to undertake the task. So I 
thought of you, and I came here to take stock of your ideas 
and your ways of life. After what you have told me, I could 
not possibly cause you pain in this way, for we are good 
friends already.”’ 

‘¢Commandant,’’ said Benassis after a moment’s pause, 
‘‘ bring Judith’s child here to me. It is doubtless God’s will 
to submit me to this final trial, and I will endure it. I will 


ELEGIES. 257 


offer up these sufferings to God, whose Son died upon the 
cross. Besides, your story has awakened tender feelings ; 
does not that augur well for me?”’ 

Genestas took both of Benassis’ hands and pressed them 
warmly, unable to check the tears that filled his eyes and 
coursed down his sunburnt face. 

‘* Let us keep silence with regard to all this,’ he said. 

‘‘Yes, commandant. You are not drinking ?”’ 

‘¢T am not thirsty,’’ Genestas answered. ‘‘I ama perfect 
fool !’’ 

‘Well, when will you bring him to me?”’ 

‘‘Why, to-morrow, if you will let me. He has been at 
Grenoble these two days.’’ 

‘‘Good ! Set out to-morrow morning and come back again. 
I shall wait for you in La Fosseuse’s cottage, and we will all 
four of us breakfast there together.”’ 

«* Aoreed,’’ said Genestas, and the two friends as they went 
upstairs bade each other good-night. When they reached the 
landing that lay between their rooms, Genestas set down his 
candle on the window ledge and turned towards Benassis. 

“¢God’s thunder!’ he said, with outspoken enthusiasm ; 
“I cannot let you go without telling you that you are the 
third among christened men to make me understand that there 
is something up there,’’ and he pointed to the sky. 

The doctor’s answer was a smile full of sadness and a cor- 
dial grasp of the hand that Genestas held out to him. 


Before daybreak next morning Commandant Genestas was 
on hisway. On his return, it was noon before he reached the 
spot on the high road between Grenoble and the little town, 
where the pathway turned that led to La Fosseuse’s cottage. 
He was seated in one of the light open cars with four wheels, 
drawn by one horse, that are in use everywhere on the roads 
in these hilly districts. Genestas’ companion was a thin, 
delicate-looking lad, apparently about twelve years of age, 

Wy 


258 THE. COUNTRY, DOCTOR. 


though in reality he was in his sixteenth year. Before alight- 
ing, the officer looked round about him in several directions 
in search of a peasant who would take the carriage back to 
Benassis’ house. It was impossible to drive to La Fosseuse’s 
cottage, the pathway was too narrow. The park-keeper hap- 
pened to appear upon the scene, and helped Genestas out of 
his difficulty, so that the officer and his adopted son were at 
liberty to follow the mountain footpath that led to the tryst- 
ing-place. 

<< Would you not enjoy spending a year in running about in 
this lovely country, Adrien? Learning to hunt and to ride a 
horse, instead of growing pale over your books? Stay! look 
therey na 

Adrien obediently glanced over the valley with languid 
indifference ; like all lads of his age, he cared nothing for the 
beauty of natural scenery ; so he only said, ‘‘ You are very 
kind, father,’’ without checking his walk. 

The invalid listlessness of this answer went to Genestas’ 
heart ; he said no more to his son, and they reached La Fos- 
seuse’s house in silence. 

«¢You are punctual, commandant!’’ cried Benassis, rising 
from the wooden bench where he was sitting. 

But at the sight of Adrien he sat down again, and seemed 
for a while to be lost in thought. In a leisurely fashion he 
scanned the lad’s sallow, weary face, not without admiring its 
delicate oval outlines, one of the most noticeable character- 
istics of a noble head. The lad was the living image of his 
mother. He had her olive complexion, beautiful black eyes 
with a sad and thoughtful expression in them, long hair, a 
head too energetic for the fragile body; all the peculiar 
beauty of the Polish Jewess had been transmitted to her son. 

‘‘TDo you sleep soundly, my little man?’’ Benassis asked 
him. 

Ves. sir.’ ' 

“Let me see your knees ; turn back your trousers.’’ 


ELEGIES. 259 


Adrien reddened, unfastened his garters, and showed his 
knees to the doctor, who felt them carefully over. 

‘“¢Good. Now speak; shout, shout as loud as you can.”’ 
Adrien obeyed. 

‘¢ That will do. Now give me your hands.’’ 

The lad held them out ; white, soft, and blue-veined hands, 
like those of a woman. 

«¢ Where were you at school in Paris? ’’ 

‘¢¢ At Saint Louis.”’ 

“Did your master read his breviary during the night ?’”’ 

“OVS. Sika” 

‘¢So you did not go straight off to sleep ?”’ 

As Adrien made no answer to this, Genestas spoke. ‘‘ The 
master is a worthy priest; he advised me to take my little 
rascal away on the score of his health,’’ he told the doctor. 

‘‘Well,’’ answered Benassis, with a clear penetrating gaze 
into Adrien’s frightened eyes, ‘‘ there is a good chance. Oh, 
we shall make a man of him yet. We will live together like 
a pair of comrades, my boy! We will keep early hours. I 
mean to show this boy of yours how to ride a horse, comman- 
dant. He shall be put on a milk diet for a month or two, so 
as to get his digestion into order again, and then I will take 
out a shooting license for him, and put him in Butifer’s 
hands, and the two of them shall have some chamois hunting. 
Give your son four or five months of outdoor life, and you 
will not know him again, commandant! How delighted 
Butifer will be! I know the fellow ; he will take you over 
. into Switzerland, my young friend ; haul you over the Alpine 
passes and up the mountain peaks, and add six inches to your 
height in six months ; he will put some color into your cheeks 
and brace your nerves, and make you forget all these bad ways 
that you have fallen into at school. And after that you can 
go back to your work ; and you will be a man some of these 
days. Butifer is an honest young fellow. We can trust him 
with the money necessary for traveling expenses and your 


260 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


hunting expeditions. The responsibility will keep him steady 
for six months, and that will be a very good thing for him.’’ 

Genestas’ face brightened more and more at every word 
the doctor spoke. 

“* Now, let us go in to breakfast. La Fosseuse is very anx- 
ious to see you,’’ said Benassis, giving Adrien a gentie tap on 
the cheek. 

Genestas took the doctor’s arm and drew him a little aside. 
‘‘Then he is not consumptive after all?’’ he asked. 

‘*No more than you or I.”’ 

‘¢ Then what is the matter with him?’”’ 

‘‘Pshaw!’’ answered Benassis; ‘‘he is a little run down, 
that is all.’’ 

La Fosseuse appeared on the threshold of the door; and 
Genestas noticed, not without surprise, her simple but coquet- 
tish costume. This was not the peasant girl of yesterday 
evening, but a graceful and well-dressed Parisian woman, 
against whose glances he felt that he was not proof. The 
soldier turned his eyes on the table, which was made of walnut 
wood. There was no table-cloth, but the surface might have 
been varnished, it was so well rubbed and polished. Eggs, 
butter, a rice pudding, and fragrant wild strawberries had 
been set out, and the poor child had put flowers everywhere 
about the room; evidently it was a great day for her. At the 
sight of all this, the commandant could not help looking 
enviously at the little house and the green sward about it, and 
watched the peasant girl with an air that expressed both his 
doubts and his hopes. Then his eyes fell on Adrien, with - 
whom La Fosseuse was deliberately busying herself, and hand- 
ing him the eggs. 

‘‘ Now, commandant,”’ said Benassis, ‘‘ you know the terms 
on which you are receiving hospitality. You must tell La 
Fosseuse ‘ something about the army.’ ”’ 

‘But let the gentleman first have his breakfast in peace, 
and then, after he has taken a cup of coffee fe 





ELEGIES. 261 


‘«¢ By all means, I shall be very glad,’”’ answered the com- 
mandant; ‘‘ but it must be upon one condition, you will tell 
us the story of some adventure in your past life, will you not, 
mademoiselle ?”’ 

‘‘Why, nothing worth telling has ever happened to me, 
sir,’’ she answered, as her color rose. ‘‘ Will you take a little 
more rice pudding?’’ she added, as she saw that Adrien’s 
plate was empty. 

‘Tf you please, mademoiselle.”’ 

‘‘ The pudding is delicious,’’ said Genestas. 

‘‘Then what will you say to her coffee and cream ?’’ cried 
Benassis. 

‘© T would rather hear our pretty hostess talk.’’ 

“You did not put that nicely, Genestas,’’ said Benassis. 
He took La Fosseuse’s hand in his and pressed it as he went 
on: ‘Listen, my child; there is a kind heart hidden away 
beneath that officer’s stern exterior, and you can talk freely 
before him. We do not want to press you to talk, do not 
tell us anything unless you like; but if ever you can be 
listened to and understood, poor little one, it will be by the 
three who are with you now at this moment. ‘Tell us all 
about your love affairs in the old days, that will not admit us 
into any of the real secrets of your heart.”’ 

‘Here is Mariette with the coffee,’’ she answered, ‘‘ and 
as soon as you are all served, I will tell about my ‘love 
affairs’ very willingly. But M. le Commandant will not for- 
get his promise ?’’ she added, challenging the officer with a 
shy glance. 

“‘That would be impossible, mademoiselle,’’ Genestas an- 
swered respectfully. 

“*When I was sixteen years old,’’ La Fosseuse began, ‘I 
had to beg my bread on the roadside in Savoy, though my 
health was very bad. I used to sleep at Echelles, in a manger 
full of straw. The innkeeper who gave me shelter was kind, 
but his wife could not abide me, and was always saying hard 


262 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


things. I used to feel very miserable ; for although I was a 
beggar, I was not a naughty child; I used to say my prayers 
every night and morning, I never stole anything, and I did 
as heaven bade me in begging for my living, for there was 
nothing that I could turn my hands to, and I was really unfit 
for work—quite unable to handle a hoe or to wind spools of 
cotton. 

‘Well, they drove me away from the inn at last; a dog 
was the cause of it all. I had neither father nor mother nor 
friends. I had met with no one, ever since I was born, whose 
eyes had any kindness in them for me. Morin, the old 
woman who had brought me up, was dead. She had been 
very good to me, but I cannot remember that she ever petted 
me much; besides, she worked out in the fields like a man, 
poor thing; and if she fondled me at times, she also used to 
rap my fingers with the spoon if I ate the soup too fast out of 
the porringer we had between us. Poor old woman, never a 
day passes but I remember her in my prayers! If it might 
please God to let her live a happier life up there than she did 
here below! And, above all things, if she might only lie a 
little softer there, for she was always grumbling about the 
pallet-bed that we both used to sleep upon. You could not 
possibly imagine how it hurts one’s soul to be repulsed by 
every one, to receive nothing but hard words and looks that 
cut you to the heart, just as if they were so many stabs of a 
knife. I have known poor old people who were so used to 
these things that they did not mind them a bit, but I was not 
born for that sort of life. A ‘no’ always made me cry. 
Every evening I came back again more unhappy than ever, 
and only felt comforted when I had said my prayers. In all 
God’s world, in fact, there was not a soul to care for me, no 
one to whom I could pour out my heart. My only friend 
was the blue sky. I have always been happy when there was 
a cloudless sky above my head. I used to lie and watch the 
weather from some nook among the crags when the wind had 


ELEGIES. 263 


swept the clouds away. At such times I used to dream that I 
was a great lady. I used to gaze into the sky till I felt myself 
bathed in the blue ; I lived up there in thought, rising higher 
and higher yet, till my troubles weighed on me no more, and 
there was nothing but gladness left. 

‘But to return to my love affairs. I must tell you that the 
innkeeper’s spaniel had a dear little puppy, just as sensible as 
a human being; he was quite white, with black spots on his 
paws, a cherub of a puppy! Icansee him yet. Poor little 
fellow, he was the only creature who ever gave me a friendly 
look in those days ; I kept all my tit-bits for him. He knew 
me, and came to look for me every evening. How he used 
to spring up at me! And he would bite my feet, he was not 
ashamed of my poverty; there was something so grateful and 
so kind in his eyes that it brought tears into mine to see it. 
‘That is the one living creature that really cares for me!’ I 
used to say. He slept at my feet that winter. It hurt me so 
much to see him beaten, that I broke him of the habit of 
going into houses to steal bones, and he was quite contented 
with my crusts. When I was unhappy, he used to come and 
stand in front of me, and look into my eyes; it was just as 
if he said, ‘So you are sad, my poor Fosseuse ?’ 

“Tf a traveler threw me some halfpence, he would pick 
them up out of the dust and bring them to me, clever little 
spaniel that he was! I was less miserable so long as I had 
that friend. Every day I put away a few halfpence, for I 
wanted to get fifteen francs together, so that I might buy him 
of father Manseau. One day his wife saw that the dog was fond 
of me, so she herself took a sudden violent fancy to him. 
The dog, mind you, could not bear her. Oh, animals know 
people by instinct! If you really care for them, they find it 
out in amoment. I hada gold coin, a twenty-franc piece, 
sewed into the band of my skirt; so I spoke to M. Manseau: 
‘ Dear sir, I meant to offer you my year’s savings for your dog ; 
but now your wife has a mind to keep him, although she cares 


264 THE. COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


very little about him, and rather than that, will you sell him 
to me for twenty francs? Look, I have the money here.’ 

“**No, no, little woman,’ he said; ‘put up your twenty 
francs. Heaven forbid that I should take their money from 
the poor! Keep the dog; and if my wife makes a fuss about 
it, you must go away.’ 

‘His wife made a terrible to-do about the dog. Ah! mon 
Dieu! any one might have thought the house was on fire! 
You never would guess the notion that next came into her 
head. She saw that the little fellow looked on me as his 
mistress, and that she could only have him against his will, so 
she had him poisoned ; and so my poor spaniel died in my 
arms I cried over him as if he had been my child, and 
buried him under a pine tree. You do not knowall that I laid 
in that grave. As Isat there beside it, I told myself that hence- 
forward I should always be alone in the world; that I had 
nothing left to hope for; that I should be again as I had been 
before, a poor lonely girl; that I should never more see a 
friendly light in any eyes. I stayed out there all through the 
night, praving God to have pity on me. When I went back 
to the highroad I saw a poor little child, about ten years old, 
who had no hands. 

**¢God has heard me,’ I thought. I had prayed that 
night as I had never prayed before. ‘I will take care of the 
poor little one; we will beg together, and I will be a mother 
tohim. Two of us ought to do better than one; perhaps I 
shall have more courage for him than [ have for myself.’ 

“At first the little boy seemed to be quite happy, and, 
indeed, he would have been hard to please if he had not been 
content. I did everything that he wanted, and gave him the 
best of all that I had; I was his slave in fact, and he tyran- 
nized over me, but that was nicer than being alone, I used to 
think! Pshaw! no sooner did the little good-for-nothing 
know that I carried a twenty-franc piece sewed into my skirt- 
band than he cut the stitches, and stole my gold coin, the 





ELEGIES. 265 


price of my poor spaniel! I had meant to have masses said 
with it. A child without hands, too! Qh, it makes one 
shudder! Somehow that theft took all the heart out of me. 
It seemed as if I was to love nothing but it should come to 
some wretched end. 

«One day at Echelles, I watched a fine carriage coming 
slowly up the hillside. ‘There was a young lady, as beautiful 
as the Virgin Mary, in the carriage, and a young man, who 
looked like the young lady. ‘Just look,’ he said; ‘there is 
a pretty girl!’ and he flung a silver coin to me. 

‘*No one but you, M. Benassis, could understand how 
pleased I was with the compliment, the first that I had ever 
had ; but, indeed, the gentleman ought not to have thrown 
the money to me. I was all in a flutter; I knew of a short 
cut, a footpath among the rocks, and started at once to run, 
so that I reached the summit of the Echelles long before the 
carriage, which was coming up very slowly. I saw the young 
man again; he was quite surprised to find me there; and as 
for me, I was so pleased that my heart seemed to be throb- 
bing in my throat. Some kind of instinct drew me towards 
him. After he had recognized me, I went on my way again ; 
I felt quite sure that he and the young lady with him would 
leave the carriage to see the waterfall at Couz, and so they 
did. When they had alighted, they saw me once more, under 
the walnut trees by the wayside. They asked me many ques- 
tions and seemed to take an interest in what I told them 
about myself. Inall my life I had never heard such pleasant 
voices as they had, that handsome young man and his sister, 
for she was his sister I am sure. I thought about them for a 
whole year afterwards, and kept on hoping that they would 
come back. I would have given two years of my life only to 
see that traveler again, he looked so nice. Until I knew M. 
Benassis these were the greatest events of my life. Although 
my mistress turned me away for trying on that horrid ball-dress 
of hers, I was sorry for her, and I have forgiven her; for, 





266 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


candidly, if you will give me leave to say so, I thought my- 
self the better woman of the two, countess though she was.”’ 

.** Well,’ said Genestas, after a moment’s pause, ‘‘ you see 
that Providence has kept a friendly eye on you, you are in 
clover here.’’ 

At these words La Fosseuse looked at Benassis with eyes 
full of gratitude. 

**Would that I were rich!’’ came from Genestas. The 
officer’s exclamation was followed by profound silence. 

«“You owe me a story,’’ said La Fosseuse at last, in coax- 
ing tones. 

‘“*T will tell it at once,’’ answered Genestas. ‘‘On the 
evening before the battle of Friedland,’’ he went on, after 
a moment, ‘‘I had been sent with a despatch to General 
Davoust’s quarters, and I was on the way back to my own, 
when at a turn in the road I found myself face to face with 
the Emperor. Napoleon gave me a look. 

«©*« You are Captain Genestas, are you not?’ he said. 

“¢¢ Yes, your majesty.’ 

“«« You were out in Egypt?’ 

«¢¢ Ves, your, majesty.’ 

“«¢« You had better not keep to the road you are on,’ he said ; 
‘turn to the left, you will reach your division sooner that 
way.’ 

“«That was what the Emperor said, but you would never 
imagine how kindly he said it; and he had so many irons in 
the fire just then, for he was riding about surveying the posi- 
tion of the field. I am telling you this story to show you 
what a memory he had, and so that you may know that he knew 
my face. I took the oath in 1815. But for that mistake, 
perhaps I might have been a colonel to-day; I never meant 
to betray the Bourbons, France must be defended, and that 
was all I thought about. I was a major in the Grenadiers of 
the Imperial Guard; and although my wound still gave me 
trouble, I swung a sabre in the battle of Waterloo. When it 


? 


ELEGIES. 267 


was all over, and Napoleon returned to Paris, I went too; 
then when he reached Rochefort, I followed him against his 
orders; it was some sort of comfort to watch over him and to 
see that no mishap befell him on the way. So when he was 
walking along the beach he turned and saw me on duty ten 
paces from him. 

«¢<« Well, Genestas,’’ he said, as he came towards me, ‘‘so 
we are not yet dead, either of us?’ 

“It cut me to the heart to hear him say that. If you had 
heard him, you would have shuddered from head to foot, as I 
did. He pointed to the villainous English vessel that was 
keeping the entrance to the harbor. ‘When I see ‘shat,’ he 
said, ‘and think of my Guard, I wish that I had perished in 
that torrent of blood.’ 

‘«‘ Yes,’’ said Genestas, looking at the doctor and at La 
Fosseuse, ‘‘ those were his very words.’’ 

‘¢¢ The generals who counseled you not to charge with the 
Guard, and who hurried you into your traveling carriage, 
were no true friends of yours,’ I said. 

<¢¢Come with me,’ he cried eagerly, ‘the game is not 
ended yet.’ 

‘««¢JT would gladly go with your majesty, but I am not free ; 
I have a motherless child on my hands just now,’ I could but 
reply. 

«And so it happened that Adrien over there prevented me 
from going to St. Helena. 

“¢ Stay,’ he said, ‘I have never given you anything. You 
are not one of those who fill one hand and then hold out the 
other. Here is the snuff-box that I have used through this 
last campaign. And stay on in France; after all, brave men 
are wanted there! Remain in the service, and keep me in 
remembrance. Of all my army in Egypt, you are the last 
that I have seen still on his legs in France.’ And he gave me 
a little snuff-box. 

‘«* Have ‘‘Honor and Country’’ engraved on it,’ he said; ‘the 


268 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


history of our two last campaigns is summed up in those three 
words.’ 

‘« Then those who were going out with him came up, and I 
spent the rest of the morning with them. The Emperor 
walked to and fro along the beach; there was not a sign of 
agitation about him, though he frowned from time to time. 
At noon, it was considered hopeless for him to attempt to 
escape by sea. The English had found out that he was at 
Rochefort ; he must either give himself up to them, or cross 
the breadth of France again. We were wretchedly anxious ; 
the minutes seemed like hours! On the one hand there were 
the Bourbons, who would have shot Napoleon if he had fallen 
into their clutches ; and on the other, the English, a dishon- 
ored race, they covered themselves with shame by flinging a 
foe who asked for hospitality away on a desert rock, that is a 
stain which they will never wash away. Whilst we were 
anxiously debating, some one or other among his suite pre- 
sented a sailor to him, a Lieutenant Doret, who had a scheme 
for reaching America to lay before him. Asa matter of fact, 
a brig from the States and a merchant vessel were lying in the 
harbor. 

«<¢ But how could you set about it, lieutenant ?’ the Empe- 
ror asked him. 

<©< Vou will be on board the merchant vessel, sire,’ the 
man answered. ‘I will run up the white flag and man the 
brig with a few devoted followers. We will tackle the English 
vessel, set fire to her, and board her, and you will get clear 
away.’ 

‘«‘¢We will go with you!’ I cried to the lieutenant. But 
Napoleon looked at us and said, ‘ Captain Genestas, keep 
yourself for France.’ 

“‘Tt was the only time I ever saw Napoleon show any 
emotion. With a wave of his hand to us he went in again. 
I watched nim go on board the English vessel, and then I 
went away. It wasall over with him, and heknewit. There 


ELEGIES. 269 


was a traitor in the harbor, who by means of signals gave 
warning to the Emperor’s enemies of his presence. Then 
Napoleon fell back on a last resource; he did as he had been 
wont to do on the battlefield, he went to his foes instead of 
letting them come to him. ‘Talk of troubles! | No words 
could ever make you understand the misery of those who loved 
him for his own sake.”’ 

‘«But where is his snuff-box ?’’ asked La Fosseuse. 

“‘Tt is in a box at Grenoble,”’ the commandant replied. 

«¢T will go over to see it, if you will let me. To think that 
you have something in your possession that his fingers have 
touched ! Had he a well-shaped hand ?’’ 

Very. 7 

‘*Can it be true that he is dead? Come, tell me the real 
truth ?”’ 

“¢ Yes, my dear child, he is dead; there is no doubt about 
tees 

“*T was such a little girl in 1815. I was not tall enough to 
see anything but his hat, and even so I was nearly crushed to 
death in the crowd at Grenoble.’’ 

“‘ Your coffee and cream is very nice indeed,”’ said Genes- 
tas. ‘‘ Well, Adrien, how do you like this country? Will 
you come here to see mademoiselle?”’ 

The boy made no answer; he seemed afraid to look at 
La Fosseuse. Benassis never took his eyes off Adrien; he 
appeared to be reading the lad’s very soul. 

“‘ Of course he will come to see her,’’ said Benassis. ‘‘ But 
let us go home again, I have a pretty long round to make, 
and shall want a horse. I daresay you and Jacquotte will 
manage to get on together whilst I am away.”’ 

‘‘ Will you not come with us?’’ said Genestas to La 
Fosseuse. 

‘‘Willingly,’’ she answered; ‘‘I have a lot of things to 
take over for Mme. Jacquotte.’’ 

They started out for the doctor’s house. Her visitors had 





270 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


raised La Fosseuse’s spirits; she led the way along narrow 
tracks, through the loneliest yet most lovely parts of the 
hills. 

**You have told us nothing about yourself, Monsieur 
l’Officier,”’ she said. ‘‘I should have liked to hear you tell 
us about some adventure in the wars. I liked what you told 
us about Napoleon very much, but it made me feel sad. 
If you would be so very kind y 

‘* Quite right !’’ Benassis exclaimed. ‘‘ You ought to tell 
us about some thrilling adventure during our walk. Come, 
now, something really interesting, like that business of the 
beam in the Beresina!’’ 

‘*So few of my recollections are worth telling,’’ said Ge- 
nestas, ‘‘Some people come in for all kinds of adventures, 
but I have never managed to be the hero of any story, Oh! 
stop a bit though, a funny thing did once happen to me. I 
was with the Grand Army in 180s, and so, of course, I was 
at Austerlitz. There was a good deal of skirmishing just be- 
fore Ulm surrendered, which kept the cavalry pretty fully 
occupied. Moreover we were under the command of Murat, 
who never let the grass grow under his feet. 

“‘T was still only a sub-lieutenant in those days. It was 
just at the opening of the campaign, and after one of these 
affairs, that we took possession of a district in which there 
were a good many fine estates ; so it fell out that one evening 
my regiment bivouacked in a park belonging to a handsome 
chateau where a countess lived, a young and pretty woman 
she was. Of course, I meant to lodge in the house, and I 
hurried there to put a stop to pillage of any sort. I came 
into the salon just as my quartermaster was pointing his car- 
bine at the countess, his brutal way of asking for what she 
certainly could not give the ugly scoundrel. I struck up his 
carbine with my sword, the bullet went through a looking- 
glass on the wall, then I dealt my gentleman a back-handed 
blow that stretched him on the floor. The sound of the shot 








ELEGIES. 271 


and the cries of the countess brought all her people on the 
scene, and it was my turn to be in danger. 

“¢« Stop!’ she cried in German (for they were going to run 
me through the body), ‘this officer has saved my life ?’ 

‘«¢ They drew back at that. The lady gave me her handker- 
chief (a fine embroidered handkerchief, which I have yet), 
telling me that her house would always be open to me, and 
that I should always find a sister and a devoted friend in her, 
if at any time I should be in any sort of trouble. In short, 
she did not know how to make enough of me. She was as 
fair as a wedding morning and as charming as a kitten. We 
had dinner together. Next day I was distractedly in love, 
but next day I had to be in my place at Giintzburg, or 
wherever it was. There was no help for it, I had to turn out, 
and started off with my handkerchief, much aggrieved over 
the turn affairs had taken. 

“Well, we gave them battle, and all the time I kept on say- 
ing to myself, ‘I wish a bullet would come my way! Mon 
Dieu / they are flying thick enough!’ 

“‘T had no wish for a ball in the thigh, for I should have 
had to stop where I was in that case, and there would have 
been no going back to the chateau, but I was not particular ; 
a nice wound in the arm I should have liked best, so that I 
might be nursed and made much of by the princess. I flung 
myself on the enemy, like mad; but I had no sort of luck, 
and came out of the action quite safe and sound. We must 
march, and there was an end of it; I never saw the countess 
again, and there is the whole story.”’ 

By this time they had reached Benassis’ house ; the doctor 
mounted his horse at once and disappeared. Genestas recom- 
mended his son to Jacquotte’s care, so the doctor on his return 
found that she had taken Adrien completely under her wing, 
and had installed him in M. Gravier’s celebrated room. With 
no small astonishment, she heard her master’s order to put up 
a simple camp-bed in his own room; for that the lad was to 


272 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


sleep there, and this in such an authoritative tone, that for 
once in her life Jacquotte found not a single word to say. 

After dinner the commandant went back to Grenoble. Be- 
nassis’ reiterated assurances that the lad would soon be restored 
to health had taken a weight off his mind. 


Eight months later, in the earliest days of the following 
December, Genestas was appointed to be lieutenant-colonel 
of a regiment stationed at Poitiers. He was just thinking 
of writing to Benassis to tell him of the journey he was about 
to take, when a letter came from the doctor. His friend told 
him that Adrien was once more in sound health. 


“‘The boy has grown strong and tall,’’ he said; ‘“‘ and he 
is wonderfully well. He has profited by Butifer’s instruction 
since you saw him last, and is now as good a shot as our 
smuggler himself. He has grown brisk and active too; he is 
a good walker, and rides well; he is not in the least like the 
lad of sixteen who looked like a boy of twelve eight months 
ago; any one might think he was twenty years old. There 
is an air of self-reliance and independence about him. In 
fact, he is a man now, and you must begin to think about his 
future at once.”’ 


““T shall go over to Benassis to-morrow, of course,’’ said 
Genestas to himself, ‘‘and I will see what he says before I 
make up my mind what to do with that fellow,’’ and with that 
he went to a farewell dinner given to him by his brother 
officers. He would be leaving Grenoble now in a very few 
days. 

As the lieutenant-colonel returned after the dinner, his 
servant handed him a letter. It had been brought by a 
messenger, he said, who had waited a long while for an an- 
swer. 

Genestas recognized Adrien’s handwriting although his 


ELEGIES. 273 


head was swimming after the toasts that had been drunk in 
his honor; probably, he thought the letter merely contained 
a request to gratify some boyish whim, so he left it unopened 
on the table. The next morning, when the fumes of cham- 
pagne had passed, he took it and began to read. 

‘My dear father 4 

«Oh! you young rogue,’’ was his comment, ‘‘ you know 
how to coax whenever you want something.”’ 

‘Our dear M. Benassis is dead a 

The letter dropped from Genestas’ hands ; it was some time 
before he could read any more. 

‘Every one is in consternation. The trouble is all the 
greater because it came as a sudden shock. It was so unex- 
pected. M. Benassis seemed perfectly well the day before ; 
there was not a sign of ill-health about him. Only the day 
before yesterday he went to see all his patients, even those 
who lived farthest away; it was as if he had known what was 
going to happen; and he spoke to every one whom he met, 
saying, ‘Good-bye my friends,’ each time. Towards five 
o’clock he came back just as usual to have dinner with me. 
He was tired ; Jacquotte noticed the purple flush on his face, 
but the weather was so very cold that she would not get ready 
a warm foot-bath for him, as she usually did when she saw 
that the blood had gone to his head. So she has been wail- 
ing, poor thing, through her tears for these two days past, ‘ If 
I had ody given him a foot-bath, he would be living now!’ 

‘¢M. Benassis was hungry; he made a good dinner. I 
thought he was in higher spirits than usual; we both of us 
laughed a great deal, I had never seen him laugh so much 
before. After dinner, towards seven o’clock, a man came with 
a message from Saint Laurent du Pont ; it was a serious case, 
and M. Benassis was urgently needed. He said to me, ‘I 
shall have to go, though I never care to set out on horseback 
when I have hardly digested my dinner, more especially when 
it is as cold as this. It is enough to killa man!’ 

18 








274 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR: 


‘‘For all that, he went. At nine o’clock the postman, 
Goguelat, brought a letter for M. Benassis. Jacquotte was 
tired out, for it was her washing-day. She gave me the letter 
and went off to bed. She begged me to keep a good fire in 
our bedroom, and to have some tea ready for M. Benassis 
when he came in, for I am still sleeping in the little cot-bed 
in his room. I raked out the fire in the salon, and went 
upstairs to wait for my good friend. I looked at the letter, 
out of curiosity, before I laid it on the chimney-piece, and 
noticed the handwriting and the postmark. It came from 
Paris, and I think it was a lady’s hand. I am telling you 
about it because of things that happened afterwards. 

“‘About ten o’clock, I heard the horse returning, and 
M. Benassis’ voice. He said to Nicolle, ‘It is cold enough 
to-night to bring the wolves out. I do not feel at all well.’ 
Nicolle said, ‘Shall I go up and wake Jacquotte?” And M. 
Benassis answered, ‘Oh! no, no,’ and came upstairs. 

‘¢T said, ‘I have your tea here, all ready for you,’ and he 
smiled at me in the way that you know, and said, ‘ Thank 
you, Adrien.” That was his last smile. In a moment he 
began to take off his cravat, as though he could not breathe. 
‘How hot it is in here!’ he said, and flung himself down 
in an armchair. ‘A letter has come for you, my good 
friend,’ I said; ‘here it is;’ and I gave him the letter. He 
took it up and glanced at the handwriting. ‘Ah! mon 
Dieu #’ he exclaimed, ‘ perhaps she is free at last!” Then 
his head sank back and his hands shook. After a little while 
he set the lamp on the table and opened the letter. There 
was something so alarming in the cry he had given that I 
watched him while he read, and saw that his face was flushed, 
and there were tears in his eyes. Then quite suddenly he fell, 
head forwards. I tried to raise him, and saw how purple his 
face was. 

<«¢Tt is all over with me,’ he said, stammering ; it was ter- 
rible to see how he struggled to rise. ‘I must be bled ; 


ELEGIES. 275 





bleed me!’ he cried, clutching my hand ‘ Adrien,’ he 
said again, ‘burn this letter!’ He gave it to me, and I 
threw it on the fire. I called for Jacquotte and Nicolle. 
Jacquotte did not hear me, but Nicolle did, and came hurry- 
ing upstairs; he helped me to lay M. Benassis on my little 
bed. Our dear friend could not hear us any longer when we 
spoke to him, and although his eyes were open, he did not see 
anything. Nicolle galloped off at once to fetch the surgeon, 
M. Bordier, and in this way spread alarm through the town. 
It was all astir in a moment. M. Janvier, M. Dufau, and all 
the rest of your acquaintance were the first to come to us. 
But all hope was at an end, M. Benassis was dying fast. He 
gave no sign of consciousness, not even when M. Bordier 
cauterized the soles of his feet. It was an attack of gout, 
combined with an apoplectic stroke. 

‘‘T am giving you all these details, dear father, because 
I know how much you cared for him. As for me, I am 
very sad and full of grief, for I can say to you that I cared 
more for him than for any one else except you. I learned 
more from M. Benassis’ talk in the evenings than I ever could 
have learned at school. 

‘‘ You cannot imagine the scene next morning when the 
news of his death was known in the place. The garden and 
the yard here were filled with people. How they sobbed 
and wailed! Nobody did any work that day. Every one 
recalled the last time that they had seen M. Benassis, and 
what he had said, or they talked of all that he had done for 
them ; and those who were least overcome with grief spoke 
for the others. Every one wanted to see him once more, and 
the crowd grew larger every moment. The sad news traveled 
so fast that men and women and children came from ten 
leagues round ; all the people in the district, and even beyond 
it, had that one thought in their minds. 

*‘Tt was arranged that four of the oldest men of the com- 
mune should carry the coffin. It was a very difficult task for 


276 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


them, for the crowd was so dense between the church and 
M. Benassis’ house. There must have been nearly five thou- 
sand people there, and almost every one knelt as if the Host 
were passing. There was not nearly room for them in the 
church. In spite of their grief, the crowd was so silent that 
you could hear the sound of the bell during mass and the 
chanting as far as the end of the High Street ; but when the 
procession started again for the new cemetery, which M. Be- 
nassis had given to the town, little thinking, poor man, that 
he himself would be the first to be buried there, a great cry 
went up. M. Janvier wept as he said the prayers ; there were 
no dry eyes among the crowd. And so we buried him. 

“‘As night came on the people dispersed, carrying sorrow 
and mourning everywhere with them. The next day Gondrin 
and Goguelat, and Butifer, with some others, set to work to 
raise a sort of pyramid of earth, twenty feet high, above the 
spot where M. Benassis lies; it is being covered now with 
green sods, and every one is helping them. These things, 
dear father, have all happened in three days. 

**M. Dufau found M. Benassis’ will lying open on the table 
where he used to write. When it was known how his property 
had been left, affection for him and regret for his loss became 
even deeper, if possible. And now, dear father, I am waiting 
for Butifer (who is taking this letter to you) to come back with 
your answer. You must tell me what Iam to do. Will you 
come to fetch me, or shall I go to you at Grenoble? Tell me 
what you wish me to do, and be sure that I shall obey you in 
everything. 

‘Farewell, dear father, I send my love, and I am your 
affectionate son, ADRIEN GENESTAS.”’ 


“©Ah! well, I must go over,’’ the soldier exclaimed. 

He ordered his horse and started out. It was one of those 
still December mornings when the sky is covered with gray 
clouds. The wind was too light to disperse the thick fog, 


ELEGIES. 277 


through which the bare trees and damp house fronts seemed 
strangely unfamiliar. The very silence was gloomy. ‘There 
is such a thing as a silence full of light and gladness; on a 
bright day there is a certain joyousness about the slightest 
sound, but in such dreary weather nature is not silent, she is 
dumb. All sounds seemed to die away, stifled by the heavy 
air. 

There was something in the gloom without him that har- 
monized with Colonel Genestas’ mood ; his heart was oppressed 
with grief, and thoughts of death filled his mind. Involun- 
tarily he began to think of the cloudless sky on that lovely 
spring morning, and remembered how bright the valley had 
looked when he passed through it for the first time ; and now, 
in strong contrast with that day, the heavy sky above him was 
a leaden gray, there was no greenness about the hills, which 
were still waiting for the cloak of winter snow that invests 
them with a certain beauty of its own. There was something 
painful in all this bleak and bare desolation for a man who 
was traveling to find a grave at his journey’s end ; the thought 
of that grave haunted him. The lines of dark pine-trees here 
and there along the mountain ridges against the sky seized on 
his imagination; they were in keeping with the officer’s 
mournful musings. Every time that he looked over the valley 
that lay before him, he could not help thinking of the trouble 
that had befallen the canton, of the man who had died so 
lately, and of the blank left by his death. 

Before long, Genestas reached the cottage where he had 
asked for a cup of milk on his first journey. ‘The sight of 
the smoke rising above the hovel where the charity-children 
were being brought up recalled vivid memories of Benassis 
and of his kindness of heart. The officer made up his mind 
to call there. He would give some alms to the poor woman 
for his dead friend’s sake. He tied his horse to a tree, and 
opened the door of the hut without knocking. 

‘‘Good-day, mother,’’ he said, addressing the old woman, 


278 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


who was sitting by the fire with the little ones crouching at 
her side. ‘‘ Do you remember me ?”’ 

‘Oh! quite well, sir! You came here one fine morning 
last spring and gave us two crowns.”’ 

‘¢ There, mother! that is for you and the children.’ 

‘¢Thank you kindly, sir. May heaven bless you! ’”’ 

‘* You must not thank me, mother,”’ said the officer ; ‘‘ it is 
all through M. Benassis that the money has come to you.”’ 

The old woman raised her eyes and gazed at Genestas. 

*‘ Ah! sir,’’ she said, ‘‘ he has left his property to our poor 
countryside, and made all of us his heirs; but we have lost 
him who was worth more than all, for it was he who made 
everything turn out well for us.”’ 

“Good-bye, mother! Pray for him,’’ said Genestas, mak- 
ing a few playful cuts at the children with his riding whip. 

The old woman and her little charges went out with him; 
they watched him mount his horse and ride away. 

He followed the road along the valley until he reached the 
bridle-path that led to La Fosseuse’s cottage. From the 
slope above the house he saw that the door was fastened and 
the shutters closed. In some anxiety he returned to the high- 
way, and rode on under the poplars, now bare and leafless. 
Before long he overtook the old laborer, who was dressed in 
his Sunday best, and creeping slowly along the road. There 
was no bag of tools on his shoulder. 

‘“Good-day, father Moreau! ’’ 

‘“‘Ah! good-day, sir, I mind who you are now!”’ the 
old fellow exclaimed aftera moment. ‘‘ You area friend of 
monsieur, our late mayor! Ah! sir, would it not have been 
far better if God had only taken a poor rheumatic old creature 
like me instead? It would not have mattered if He had 
taken me, but Ae was the light of our eyes.”’ 

*“Do you know how it is that there is no one at home up 
there at La Fosseuse’s cottage ?”’ 

The old man gave a look at the sky. 


’ 





ELEGIES. 279 


‘¢ What time is it, sir? Thesun has not shone all day,’’ he 
said. 

‘* Ttisstenyo'clock.”? 

‘Oh! well, then, she will have gone to mass or else to the 
cemetery. She goes there every day. He has left her five 
hundred livres a year and her house for as long as she lives, 
but his death has fairly turned her brain, as you may say i 

«¢ And where are you going, father Moreau ?”’ 

‘* Little Jacques is to be buried to-day, and I am going to 
the funeral. He was my nephew, poor little chap; he had 
been ailing a long while, and he died yesterday morning. It 
really looked as though it was M. Benassis who kept him alive. 
That is the way! All these younger ones die!’’ Moreau 
added, half-jestingly, half-sadly. 

Genestas reined in his horse as he entered the town, for he 
met Gondrin and Goguelat, each carrying a pickaxe and shovel. 
He called to them, ‘‘ Well, old comrades, we have had the 
misfortune to lose him i 

‘‘ There, there, that is enough, sir!’’ interrupted Goguelat, 
“(we know that well enough. We have just been cutting 
turf to cover his grave.”’ 

‘* His life will make a grand story to tell, eh?’’ remarked 
Genestas as they proceeded along. 

«‘Yes,’’ answered Goguelat, ‘‘ he was the Napoleon of our 
valley, barring the battles.”’ 

As they reached the parsonage, Genestas saw a little group 
about the door; Butifer and Adrien were talking with M. 
Janvier, who, no doubt, had just returned from sayiug mass. 
Seeing that the officer made as though he were about to dis- 
mount, Butifer promptly went to hold the horse, while Adrien 
sprang forward and flung his arms about his father’s neck. 
Genestas was deeply touched by the boy’s affection, though no 
sign of this appeared in the soldier’s words or manner. 

‘‘Why, Adrien,”’ he said, ‘‘ you certainly are set up again. 
My goodness! Thanks to our poor friend, you have almost 








280 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


grown intoa man. I shall not forget your tutor here, Master 
Butifer.”’ 

“Oh! colonel,’’ entreated Butifer, <‘take me away from 
here and put me into your regiment. I cannot trust myself 
now that M. le Maire is gone. He wanted me to go fora 
soldier, didn’t he? Well, then, I will do what he wished. 
He told you all about me, and you will not be hard on me, 
will you, M. Genestas ?”’ 

** Right, my fine fellow,’’ said Genestas, as he struck his 
hand in the other’s. ‘I will find something to suit you, set 
your mind at rest And how is it with you, M. le 
Care: 

‘* Well, like every one else in the canton, colonel, I feel sorrow 
for his loss, but no one knows as I do how irreparable it is. 
He was like an angel of God among us. Fortunately, he did 
not suffer at all; it was a painless death. The hand of God 
gently loosed the bonds of a life that was one continual bless- 
ing to us all.”’ 

“Will it be intrusive if I ask you to accompany me to 
the cemetery? I should like to bid him farewell, as it 
were.’’ 

Genestas and the curé, still in conversation, walked on 
together. Butifer and Adrien followed them at a few paces 
distance. They went in the direction of the little lake, and 
as soon as they were clear of the town, the lieutenant-colonel 
saw on the mountain side a large piece of waste land enclosed 
by walls. 

‘« That is the cemetery,’’ the curé told him. ‘He is the 
first to be buried in it. Only three months before he was 
brought here, it struck him that it was a very bad arrangement © 
to have the churchyard round the church ; so, in order to carry 
out the law, which prescribes that burial grounds should be 
removed to a stated distance from human dwellings, he him- 
self gave this piece of land to the commune. We are burying 
a child, poor little thing, in the new cemetery to-day, so we 





ELE GIES, 281 


shall have begun by laying innocence and virtue there. Can 
it be that death is after alla reward? Did God mean it asa 
lesson for us when he took these two perfect natures to Him- 
self? When we have been tried and disciplined in youth by 
pain, in later life by mental suffering, are we so much the 
nearer to Him? Look! there is the rustic monument which 
has been erected to his memory.” 

Genestas saw a mound of earth about twenty feet high. It 
was bare as yet, but dwellers in the district were already busy 
covering the sloping sides with green turf. La Fosseuse, her 
face buried in her hands, was sobbing bitterly ; she was sitting 
on the pile of stones in which they had planted a great 
wooden cross, made from the trunk of a pine tree, from which 
the bark had not been removed. The officer read the inscrip- 
tion; the letters were large, and had been deeply cut in the 
wood : 

DO7 M. 


HERE LIES 
THE GOOD MONSIEUR BENASSIS 
THE FATHER OF US ALL 


PRAY FOR HIM. 


? 





‘¢Was it you, sir,’’ asked Genestas, ‘“‘ who Die 

‘*No,”’ answered the curé ; ‘‘it is simply what is said every- 
where, from the heights up there above us down to Grenoble, 
so the words have been carved here.’’ 

Genestas remained silent for a few moments. Then he 
moved from where he stood and came nearer to La Fosseuse, 
who did not hear him, and spoke again to the curé. 

‘* As soon as I have my pension,’’ he said, ‘‘ I will come to 
finish my days here among you.”’ 


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THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 
(L’ Interdiction. ) 


Translated by CLARA BE Lv. 


Dedicated to Monsteur le Contre-Amtral Bazoche, Governor 
of the Isle of Bourbon, by the grateful writer, 


De Balzac. 


In 1828, at about one o’clock one morniug, two persons 
came out of a large house in the Rue du Faubourg Saint- 
Honoré, near the Elysée-Bourbon. One was a famous 
doctor, Horace Bianchon; the other was one of the most 
elegant men in Paris, the Baron de Rastignac; they were 
friends of long standing. Each had sent away his carriage, 
and no cab was to be seen in the street ; but the night was 
fine, and the pavement dry. 

‘We will walk as far as the Boulevard,’’ said Eugéne de 
Rastignac to Bianchon. ‘‘ You can get a hackney cab at the 
club; there is always one to be found there till daybreak. 
Come with me as far as my house.”’ 

‘¢ With pleasure.’’ 

“¢ Well, and what have you to say about it?”’ 

«¢ About that woman ?”’ said the doctor coldly. 

‘‘There I recognize my Bianchon!’’ exclaimed Rastignac. 

‘¢Why, how?’’ 

“¢ Well, my dear fellow, you speak of the Marquise d’Espard 
as if she were a case for your hospital.”’ 

“‘Do you want to know what I think, Eugéne? If you 
throw over Madame de Nucingen for this Marquise, you will 
swap a one-eyed horse for a blind one.”’ 

‘¢ Madame de Nucingen is six-and-thirty, Bianchon.”’ 

‘¢And this woman is three-and-thirty,’’ said the doctor. 

(283) 


284 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


‘* Her worst enemies only say six-and-twenty.”’ 

“« My dear boy, when you really want to know a woman’s 
age, look at her temples and the tip of her nose. Whatever 
women may achieve with their cosmetics, they can do nothing 
against those incorruptible witnesses to their experiences. 
There each year of life has left its stigmata. When awoman’s 
temples are flaccid, seamed, withered in a particular way ; 
when at the tip of her nose you see those minute specks, which 
look like the imperceptible black smuts which are shed in 
London by the chimneys in which coal is burnt Your ser- 
vant, sir! That woman is more than thirty. She may be 
handsome, witty, loving—whatever you please, but she is past 
thirty, she is arriving at maturity. Ido not blame men who 
attach themselves to that kind of woman; only a man of your 
superior distinction must not mistake a winter pippin for a 
little summer apple, smiling on the bough, and waiting for you 
to crunch it. Love never goes to study the registers of birth 
and marriage ; no one loves a woman because she is handsome 
or ugly, stupid or clever ; we love because we love.”’ 

** Well, for my part, I love for quite other reasons. She is 
Marquise d’Espard ; she was a Blamont-Chauvry; she is the 
fashion ; she has soul; her foot is as pretty as the Duchesse de 
Berri’s ; she has perhaps a hundred thousand francs a year— 
some day, perhaps, I may marry her! In short, she will put 
me into a position which will enable me to pay my debts.”’ 

**T thought you were rich,”’ interrupted Bianchon. 

‘‘Bah! Ihave twenty thousand francs a year—just enough 
to keep up my stables. I was thoroughly done, my dear fellow, 
in that Nucingen business ; I will tell you about that. I have 
got my sisters married; that is the clearest profit I can show 
since we last met ; and I would rather have them provided for 
than have five hundred thousand francs a year. Now, what 
would you have me do? I am ambitious. To what can 
Madame de Nucingen lead? A year more and I shall be 
shelved, stuck in a pigeon-hole like a married man. I have 





THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 285 


all the discomforts of marriage and of single life, without the 
advantages of either; a false position, to which every man 
must come who remains tied too long to the same apron- 
string.”’ 

‘So you think you will come upon a treasure here ?”’ said 
Bianchon. ‘Your Marquise, my dear fellow, does not hit 
my fancy at all.’’ 

‘‘Your liberal opinions blur your eyesight. If Madame 
d’Espard were a Madame Rabourdin q; 

‘‘Listen tome. Noble or simple, she would still have no 
soul; she would still be a perfect type of selfishness. Take 
my word for it, medical men are accustomed to judge of 
people and things ; the sharpest of us read the soul while we 
study the body. In spite of that pretty boudoir where we 
have spent this evening, in spite of the magnificence of the 
house, it is quite possible that Madame la Marquise is in 
debt.”’ 

‘¢ What makes you think so ?”’ 

‘IT do not assert it; I am supposing. She talked of her 
soul as Louis XVIII. used to talk of his heart. I tell you this: 
That fragile, fair woman, with her chestnut hair, who pities 
herself that she may be pitied, enjoys an iron constitution, an 
appetite like a wolf’s, and the strength and cowardice of a 
tiger. Gauze, and silk, and muslin were never more cleverly 
twisted round alie! £cco.’’ 

‘« Bianchon, you frighten me! You have learned a good 
many things, then, since we lived in the Maison Vauquer ? ”’ 

*‘ Yes; since then, my boy, I have seen puppets, both dolls 
and mannikins. I know something of the ways of the fine 
ladies whose bodies we attend to, saving that which is dearest 
to them, their child—if they love it—or their pretty faces, 
which they always worship. A man spends his nights by their 
pillow, wearing himself to death to spare them the slightest 
loss of beauty in any part ; he succeeds, he keeps their secret 
like the dead ; they send to ask for his bill, and think it horribly 





286 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


exorbitant. Who saved them? Nature. Far from recom- 
mending him, they speak ill of him, fearing lest he should 
become the physician of their best friends. 

‘« My dear fellow, those women of whom you say, ‘ They 
are angels!’ I—I—have seen stripped of the little grimaces 
under which they hide their soul, as well as of the frippery 
under which they disguise their defects—without manners and 
without stays; they are not beautiful. 

‘We saw a great deal of mud, a great deal of dirt, under 
the waters of the world when we were aground for a time on 
the shoals of the Maison Vauquer. What we saw there was 
nothing. Since I have gone into higher society, I have seen 
monsters dressed in satin, Michonneaus in white gloves, 
Poirets bedizened with orders, fine gentlemen doing more 
usurious business than old Gobseck! To the shame of man- 
kind, when I have wanted to shake hands with Virtue, I have 
found her shivering in a loft, persecuted by calumny, half- 
starving on an income or a salary of fifteen hundred francs 
a year, and regarded as crazy, or eccentric, or imbecile. 

“In short, my dear boy, the Marquise is a woman of 
fashion, and I have a particular horror of that kind of woman. 
Do you want to know why? A woman who has a lofty soul, 
fine taste, gentle wit, a generously warm heart, and who lives 
a simple life, has not a chance of being the fashion. Zrgo: 
A woman of fashion and a man in power are analogous; but 
there is this difference: the qualities by which a man raises 
himself above others ennoble him and are a glory to him; 
whereas the qualities by which a woman gains power for a day 
are hideous vices ; she belies her nature to hide her character, 
and to live the militant life of the world she must have iron 
strength under a frail appearance. 

‘¢T, asa physician, know that a sound stomach includes a 
good heart. Your woman of fashion feels nothing; her rage 
for pleasure has its source in a longing to heat up her cold 
nature, a craving for excitement and enjoyment, like an old 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 287 


man who stands night after night by the footlights at the 
opera. As she has more brain than heart, she sacrifices 
genuine passion and true friends to her triumph, as a general 
sends his most devoted subalterns to the front in order to win 
a battle. The woman of fashion ceases to be a woman ; she 
is neither mother, nor wife, nor lover. She is, medically 
speaking, sex in the brain. And your Marquise, too, has all 
the characteristics of her monstrosity, the beak of a bird of 
prey, the clear, cold eye, the gentle voice—she is as polished 
as the steel of a machine, she touches everything except the 
heart.’’ 

‘¢ There is some truth in what you say, Bianchon.”’ 

‘«Some truth ?’’ replied Bianchon. ‘‘It is all true. Do 
you suppose that I was not struck to the heart by the insulting 
politeness by which she made me measure the imaginary dis- 
tance which her noble birth sets between us? That I did not 
feel the deepest pity for her cat-like civilities when I remem- 
bered what her object was? A year hence she will not write 
one word to do me the slightest service, and this evening she 
pelted me with smiles, believing that I can influence my uncle 
Popinot, on whom the success of her case a 

‘© Would you rather she should have played the fool with 
you, my dear fellow? I accept your diatribe against women 
of fashion; but you are beside the mark. I should always 
prefer for a wife a Marquise d’Espard to the most devout and 
devoted creature on earth. Marry an angel! you would 
have to go and bury your happiness in the depths of the 
country! The wife of a politician is a governing machine, a 
contrivance that makes compliments and courtesies. She is 
the most important and most faithful tool which an ambitious 
man can use; a friend, in short, who may compromise herself 
without mischief, and whom he may belie without harmful 
results. Fancy Mahomet in Paris in the nineteenth century ! 
His wife would be a Rohan, a Duchesse de Chevreuse of the 
Fronde, as keen and as flattering as an Ambassadress, as wily 





288 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


as Figaro. Your loving wives lead nowhere; a woman of 
the world leads to everything ; she is the diamond with which 
a man cuts every window when he has not the golden key 
which unlocks every door. Leave humdrum virtues to the 
humdrum, ambitious vices to the ambitious. 

«« Besides, my dear fellow, do you imagine that the love of a 
Duchesse de Langeais, or de Maufrigneuse, or of a Lady Dud- 
ley does not bestow immense pleasure? If only you knew 
how much value the cold, severe style of such women gives to 
the smallest evidence of their affection! What a delight it is 
to see a periwinkle piercing through the snow! A smile from 
below a fan contradicts the reserve of an assumed attitude, 
and is worth all the unbridled tenderness of your middle-class 
women with their mortgaged devotion; for, in love, devotion 
is nearly akin to speculation. 

«¢ And, then, a woman of fashion, a Blamont-Chauvry, has 
her virtues too! Her virtues are fortune, power, effect, a cer- 
tain contempt of all that is beneath her ae 

“Thank you!’ said Bianchon. 

‘Old curmudgeon! ”’ said Rastignac, laughing. ‘‘ Come 
—do not be common; do like your friend Desplein; be a 
Baron, a Knight of Saint Michael ; become a peer of France, 
and marry your daughters to dukes.”’ 

“‘T! May the five hundred thousand devils 

“‘Come, come! Can you be superior only in medicine? 
Really, you distress me dd 

‘‘T hate that sort of people; I long for a revolution to de- 
liver us from them for ever.’’ 

«« And so, my dear Robespierre of the lancet, you will not 
go to-morrow to your uncle Popinot ?”’ 

‘Ves, I will,’”? said Bianchon ; ‘ for you I would go to hell 


” 





? 








to fetch water 

‘My good friend, you really touch me. I have sworn that 
a commission shall sit on the Marquis. Why, here is even a 
long-saved tear to thank you,”’ 





THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 289 


<¢But,’? Bianchon went on, ‘‘I do not promise to succeed as 
you wish with Jean-Jules Popinot, You do not know him. 
However, I will take him to see your Marquise the day after 
to-morrow ; she may get round him if she can. I doubt it. 
If all the truffles, all the Duchesses, all the mistresses, and all 
the charmers in Paris were there in the full bloom of their 
beauty; if the King promised him the peerage, and the 
Almighty gave him the Order of Paradise with the revenues 
of Purgatory, not one of all these powers would induce him 
to transfer a single straw from one saucer of his scales into 
the other. He is a judge, as Death is Death.”’ 

The two friends had reached the office of the Minister 
of Foreign Affairs, at the corner of the Boulevard des 
Capucines. 

‘‘Here you are at home,’’ said Bianchon, laughing, as he 
pointed to the ministerial residence. ‘‘And here is my car- 
riage,’’ he added, calling a hackney cab. ‘‘And these—ex- 
press our fortune.”’ 

“‘ You will be happy at the bottom of the sea, while I am 
still struggling with the tempests on the surface, till I sink and 
go to ask you for a corner in your grotto, old fellow!”’ 

<¢ Till Saturday,’’ replied Bianchon. 

“« Agreed,’’ said Rastignac. ‘‘And you promise me Pop- 
inot?”’ 

“‘T will do all my conscience will allow. Perhaps this 
appeal for a commission covers some little dramorama, to use 
a word of our good bad times.”’ 

‘Poor Bianchon! he will never be anything but a good 
fellow,’’ said Rastignac to himself as the cab drove off. 


‘‘Rastignac has given me the most difficult negotiation in 
the world,’’ said Bianchon to himself, remembering, as he 
rose next morning, the delicate commission intrusted to him. 
“‘ However, I have never asked the smallest service from my 


uncle in court, and have paid more than a thousand visits 
19 


290 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


gratis for him. And, after all, we are not apt to mince mat- 
ters between ourselves. He will say Yes or No, and there is 
an end.”’ 

After this little soliloquy the famous physician bent his steps, 
at seven in the morning, towards the Rue du Fouarre, where 
dwelt Monsieur Jean-Jules Popinot, Judge of the Lower 
Court of the Department of the Seine. The Rue du Fouarre 
—an old word meaning straw—was in the thirteenth century 
the most important street in Paris. There stood the Schools 
of the University, where the voices of Abelard and of Gerson 
were heard in the world of learning. It is now one of the 
dirtiest streets of the Twelfth Arrondissement, the poorest 
quarter of Paris, that in which two-thirds of the population 
lack firing in winter, which leaves most brats at the gate of 
the Foundling Hospital, which sends most beggars to the 
poorhouse, most rag-pickers to the street corners, most de- 
crepit old folks to bask against the walls on which the sun 
shines, most delinquents to the police courts. 

Half-way down this street, which is always damp, and where 
the gutter carries to the Seine the blackened waters from some 
dye-works, there is an old house, restored no doubt under 
Francis I., and built of bricks held together by a few courses 
of masonry. That it is substantial seems proved by the shape 
of its front wall, not uncommonly seen in some parts of Paris. 
It bellies, so to speak, ina manner caused by the protuberance 
of its first floor, crushed under the weight of the second and 
third, but upheld by the strong wall of the ground floor. At 
first sight it would seem as though the piers between the win- 
dows, though strengthened by the stone mullions, must give 
way ; but the observer presently perceives that, asin the tower 
at Bologna, the old bricks and old time-eaten stone of this 
house persistently preserve their centre of gravity. 

At every season of the year the solid piers of the ground 
floor have the yellow tone and the imperceptible sweating sur- 
face that moisture gives to stone. The passer-by feels chilled 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 291 


as he walks close to this wall, where worn corner-stones in- 
effectually shelter him from the wheels of vehicles. As is 
always the case in houses built before carriages were in use, 
the vault of the doorway forms a very low archway not unlike 
the barbican of a prison. To the right of this entrance are 
three windows, protected outside by iron gratings of so close 
a pattern that the curious cannot possibly see the use made 
of the dark, damp rooms within, and the panes too are dirty 
and dusty ; to the left are two similar windows, one of which 
is sometimes open, exposing to view the porter, his wife and his 
children ; swarming, working, cooking, eating, and screaming, 
in a floored and wainscoted room where everything is drop- 
ping to pieces, and into which you descend two steps—a 
depth which seems to suggest the gradual elevation of the soil 
of Paris. 

If on a rainy day some foot-passenger takes refuge under 
the long vault, with projecting lime-washed beams, which 
leads from the door to the staircase, he will hardly fail to 
pause and look at the picture presented by the interior of this 
house. To the left is a square garden-plot, allowing of not more 
than four long steps in each direction, a garden of black soil, 
with trellises bereft of vines, and where, in default of vegeta- 
tion, under the shade of two trees, papers collect, old rags, 
potsherds, bits of mortar fallen from the roof; a barren ground, 
where time has shed on the walls, and on the trunks and 
branches of the trees, a powdery deposit like cold soot. The 
two parts of the house, set at a right angle, derive light from 
this garden-court shut in by two adjoining houses built on 
wooden piers, decrepit and ready to fall, where on each floor 
some grotesque evidence is to be seen of the craft pursued by 
the lodger within. Here long poles are hung with immense 
skeins of dyed worsted put out to dry; there on ropes dance 
clean-washed shirts; higher up, on a shelf, volumes display 
their freshly-marbled edges; women sing, husbands whistle, 
children shout ; the carpenter saws his planks, a copper turner 


292 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


makes the metal screech; all kinds of industries combine to 
produce a noise which the number of instruments renders dis- 
tracting. 

The general system of decoration in this passage, which is 
neither courtyard, garden, nor vaulted way, though a little of 
all, consists of wooden pillars resting on square stone blocks, and 
forming arches. ‘Two archways open on to the little garden ; 
two others, facing the front gateway, lead to a wooden stair- 
case, with an iron balustrade that was once a miracle of 
smith’s work, so whimsical are the shapes given to the metal ; 
the worn steps creak under every tread. The entrance to 
each flat has an architrave dark with dirt, grease, and dust, 
and outer doors, covered with Utrecht velvet set with brass 
nails, once gilt, in a diamond pattern. These relics of splen- 
dor show that in the time of Louis XIV. the house was the 
residence of some Councilor to the Parlement, some rich 
priests, or some treasurer of the ecclesiastical revenue. But 
these vestiges of former luxury bring asmile to the lips by the 
artless contrast of past and present. 

M. Jean-Jules Popinot lived on the first floor of this house, 
where the gloom, natural to all first floors in Paris houses, 
was increased by the narrowness of the street. This old 
tenement was known to all the Twelfth Arrondissement, on 
which Providence had bestowed this lawyer, as it gives a 
beneficent plant to cure or alleviate every malady. Here isa 
sketch of the man whom the brilliant Marquise d’Espard 
hoped to fascinate. 

M. Popinot, as isseemly for a magistrate, was always dressed 
in black—a style which contributed to make him ridiculous 
in the eyes of those who were in the habit of judging every- 
thing from a superficial examination. Men who are jealous 
of maintaining the dignity required by this color ought to 
devote themselves to constant and minute care of their per- 
son ; but our dear M. Popinot was incapable of forcing him- 
self to the puritanical cleanliness which black demands. His 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 293 


trousers, always threadbare, looked lke camlet—the stuff of 
which attorneys’ gowns are made; and his habitual stoop set 
them, in time, in such innumerable creases that in places they 
were traced with lines, whitish, rusty, or shiny, betraying 
either sordid avarice or the most unheeding poverty. His 
coarse worsted stockings were twisted anyhow in his ill-shaped 
shoes. His linen had the tawny tinge acquired by long 
sojourn in a wardrobe, showing that the late lamented Mad- 
ame Popinot had had a mania for much linen; in the Flemish 
fashion, perhaps, she had given herself the trouble of a great 
wash no more than twice a year. The old man’s coat and 
waistcoat were in harmony with his trousers, shoes, stockings, 
and linen. He always had the luck of his carelessness ; for, 
the first day he put on a new coat, he unfailingly matched it 
with the rest of his costume by staining it with incredible 
promptitude. The good man waited till his housekeeper told 
him that his hat was too shabby before buying a new one. 
His necktie was always crumpled and starchless, and he never 
set his dog’s-eared shirt collar straight after his judge’s bands 
had disordered it. He took no care of his gray hair, and 
shaved but twice a week. He never wore gloves, and gener- 
ally kept his hands stuffed into his empty trousers’ pockets ; 
the soiled pocket-holes, almost always torn, added a final 
touch to the slovenliness of his person. 

Any one who knows the Palais de Justice at Paris, where 
every variety of black attire may be studied, can easily imag- 
ine the appearance of M. Popinot. The habit of sitting for 
days at a time modifies the structure of the body, just as the 
fatigue of hearing interminable pleadings tells on the expres- 
sion of a magistrate’s face. Shut up as he is in courts ridic- 
ulously small, devoid of architectural dignity, and where the 
air is quickly vitiated, a Paris judge inevitably acquires a 
countenance puckered and seamed by reflection, and depressed 
by weariness ; his complexion turns pallid, acquiring an earthy 
or greenish hue according to his individual temperament. In 


294 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


short, within a given time the most blooming young man is 
turned into an ‘‘inasmuch’’ machine—an instrument which 
applies the Code to individual cases with the indifference of 
clock-work. 

Hence, nature having bestowed on M. Popinot a not too 
pleasing exterior, his life as a lawyer had not improved it. His 
frame was graceless and angular. His thick knees, huge feet, 
and broad hands formed a contrast with a priest-like face 
having a vague resemblance to a calf’s head, meek to unmean- 
ingness, and but little brightened by divergent, bloodless 
eyes, divided by a straight flat nose, surmounted by a flat 
forehead, flanked by enormous ears, flabby and graceless. His 
thin, weak hair showed the baldness through various irregular 
partings. 

One feature only commended this face to the physiog- 
nomist. This man had a mouth to whose lips divine kindness 
lent its sweetness. They were wholesome, full, red lips, finely 
wrinkled, sinuous, mobile, by which nature had given expres- 
sion to noble feeling ; lips which spoke to the heart and pro- 
claimed the man’s intelligence and lucidity, a gift of second 
sight, and a heavenly temper ; and you would have judged him 
wrongly from looking merely at his sloping forehead, his fire- 
less eyes and his shambling gait. His life answered to his 
countenance ; it was full of secret labor, and hid the virtue 
of asaint. His superior knowledge of law proved so strong 
a recommendation at the time when Napoleon was reorganiz- 
ing it in 1808 and 1811, that, by the advice of Cambacérés, he 
was one of the first men named to sit on the Imperial High Court 
of Justice at Paris. Popinot wasno schemer. Whenever any 
demand was made, any request preferred for an appointment, 
the Minister would overlook Popinot, who never set foot in 
the house of the High Chancellor or the Chief Justice. From 
the High Court he was sent down to the Common Court, and 
pushed to the lowest rung of the ladder by active struggling 
men. There he was appointed supernumerary judge. There 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 295 


was a general outcry among the lawyers: ‘‘ Popinot a super- 
numerary!’’ Such injustice struck the legal world with 
dismay—the attorneys, the registrars, everybody but Popinot 
himself, who made no complaint. The first clamor over, 
everybody was satisfied that all was for the best in the best of 
all possible worlds, which must certainly be the legal world. 
Popinot remained supernumerary judge till the day when the 
most famous Great Seal under the Restoration avenged the 
oversights heaped on this modest and uncomplaining man by 
the Chief Justices of the Empire. After being a super- 
numerary for twelve years, M. Popinot would no doubt die a 
puisne judge of the Court of the Seine. 

To account for the obscure fortunes of one of the superior 
men of the legal profession, it is necessary to enter here into 
some details which will serve to reveal his life and character, 
and which will, at the same time, display some of the wheels 
of the great machine known as Justice. M. Popinot was 
classed by the three presidents who successively controlled the 
Court of the Seine under the category of possible judges, the 
stuff of which judges are made. Thus classified, he did not 
achieve the reputation for capacity which his previous labors | 
had deserved. Just as a painter is invariably included in a 
category as a landscape painter, a portrait painter, a painter 
of history, of sea pieces, or of genre, by a public consisting 
of artists, connoisseurs, and simpletons, who, out of envy, or 
critical omnipotence, or prejudice, fence in his intellect, 
assuming, one and all, that there are ganglions in every brain 
—a narrow judgment which the world applies to writers, to 
statesmen, to everybody who begins with some specialty before 
being hailed as omniscient—so Popinot’s fate was sealed, and 
he was hedged round to do a particular kind of work. Mag- 
istrates, attorneys, pleaders, all who pasture on the legal 
common, distinguish two elements in every case—law and 
equity. Equity is the outcome of facts, law is the application 
of principles to facts. A man may be right in equity but 


296 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


wrong in law, without any blame to the judge. Between his 
conscience and the facts there is a whole gulf of determining 
reasons unknown to the judge, but which condemn or legiti- 
mize the act. A judge is not God ; his duty is to adapt facts 
to principles, to judge cases of infinite variety while measur- 
ing them by a fixed standard. 

France employs about six thousand judges ; no generation 
has six thousand great men at her command, much less can 
she find them in the legal profession. Popinot, in the midst 
of the civilization of Paris, was just a very clever cadi, who, 
by the character of his mind, and by dint of rubbing the 
letter of the law into the essence of facts, had learned to see 
the error of spontaneous and violent decisions. By the help 
of his judicial second-sight he could pierce the double casing 
of lies in which advocates hide the heart of atrial. He was 
a judge, as the great Desplein was a surgeon; he probed 
men’s consciences as the anatomist probed their bodies. His 
life and habits had led him to an exact appreciation of their 
most secret thoughts by a thorough study of facts. 

He sifted a case as Cuvier sifted the earth’s crust. Like 
that great thinker, he proceeded from deduction to deduction 
before drawing his conclusions, and reconstructed the past 
career of a conscience as Cuvier reconstructed an Anoplo- 
therium. When considering a brief he would often wake in 
the night, startled by a gleam of truth suddenly sparkling in 
his brain. Struck by the deep injustice, which is the end of 
these contests, in which everything is against the honest man, 
everything to the advantage of the rogue, he often summed 
up in favor of equity against law in such cases as bore on 
questions of what may be termed divination. Hence he was 
regarded by his colleagues as a man not of a practical mind ; 
his arguments on two lines of deduction made their delibera- 
tions lengthy. When Popinot observed their dislike to listen- 
ing to him he gave his opinion briefly ; it was said that he 
was not a good judge in this class of cases ; but as his gift of 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 297 


discrimination was remarkable, his opinion lucid, and _ his 
penetration profound, he was considered to have a special 
aptitude for the laborious duties of an examining judge. So 
an examining judge he remained during the greater part of 
his legal career. 

Although his qualifications made him eminently fitted for 
its difficult functions, and he had the reputation of being so 
learned in criminal law that his duty was a pleasure to him, 
the kindness of his heart constantly kept him in torture, and 
he was nipped as in a vise between his conscience and his 
pity. The services of an examining judge are better paid than 
those of a judge in civil actions, but they do not therefore 
prove a temptation ; they are too onerous. Popinot, a man 
of modest and virtuous learning, without ambition, an inde- 
fatigable worker, never complained of his fate ; he sacrificed 
his tastes and his compassionate soul to the public good, and 
allowed himself to be transported to the noisome pools of 
criminal examinations, where he showed himself alike severe 
and beneficent. His clerk sometimes would give the accused 
some money to buy tobacco, or a warm winter garment, as he 
led him back from the judge’s office to the Souricidre, the 
mouse-trap—the House of Detention where the accused are 
kept under the orders of the Examining Judge. He knew 
how to be an inflexible judge and a charitable man. And no 
one extracted a confession so easily as he without having 
recourse to judicial trickery. He had, too, all the acumen 
of an observer. This man, apparently so foolishly good- 
natured, simple, and absent-minded, could guess all the cun- 
ning of a prison wag, unmask the astutest street hussy, and 
subdue a scoundrel. Unusual circumstances had sharpened 
his perspicacity ; but to relate these we must intrude on his 
domestic history, for in him the judge was the social side of 
the man: another man, greater and less known, existed within. 

Twelve years before the beginning of this story, in 1816, 
during the terrible scarcity which coincided Cisastrously with 


298 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


the stay in France of the so-called Allies, Popinot was ap- 
pointed President of the Commission Extraordinary formed 
to distribute food to the poor of his neighborhood, just when 
he had planned to move from the Rue du Fouarre, which he 
as little liked to live in as his wife did. The great lawyer, 
the clear-sighted criminal judge, whose superiority seemed to his 
colleagues a form of aberration, had for five years been watch- 
ing legal results without seeing their causes. As he scrambled 
up into lofts, as he saw the poverty, as he studied the desperate 
necessities which gradually bring the poor to criminal acts, as 
he estimated their long struggles, compassion filled his soul. 
The judge then became the Saint Vincent de Paul of these 
grown-up children, these suffering toilers. The transforma- 
tion was not immediately complete. Beneficence has its 
temptations as vice has. Charity consumes a saint’s purse, as 
roulette consumes the possessions of a gambler, quite grad- 
ually. Popinot went from misery to misery, from charity to 
charity; then, by the time he had lifted all the rags which 
cover public pauperism, like a bandage under which an in- 
flamed wound lies festering, at the end of a year he had be- 
come the Providence incarnate of that quarter of the town. 
He was a member of the Benevolent Committee and of the 
Charity Organization. Wherever any gratuitous services were 
needed he was ready, and did everything without fuss, like 
the man with the short cloak, who spends his life in carrying 
soup round the markets and other places where there are 
starving folks. 

Popinot was fortunate in acting on a larger circle and in a 
higher sphere; he had an eye on everything, he prevented 
crime, he gave work to the unemployed, he found a refuge for 
the helpless, he distributed aid with discernment wherever 
danger threatened, he made himself the counselor of the 
widow, the protector of homeless children, the sleeping 
partner of small traders. No one at the courts, no one in 
Paris, knew of this secret life of Popinot’s. There are vir- 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 299 


tues so splendid that they necessitate obscurity ; men make 
haste to hide them under a bushel. As to those whom the 
lawyer succored, they, hard at work all day and tired at 
night, were little able to sing his praises; theirs was the 
gracelessness of children, who can never pay because they 
owe too much. There is such compulsory ingratitude; but 
what heart that has sown good to reap gratitude can think 
itself great ? 

By the end of the second year of his apostolic work, Popi- 
not had turned the storeroom at the bottom of his house into 
a parlor, lighted by the three iron-barred windows. The 
walls and ceiling of this spacious room were whitewashed, and 
the furniture consisted of wooden benches like those seen in 
schools, a clumsy cupboard, a walnut-wood writing-table, and 
an armchair In the cupboard were his registers of donations, 
his tickets for orders for bread, and his diary. He kept his 
ledger like a tradesman, that he might not be ruined by kind- 
ness. All the sorrows of the neighborhood were entered and 
numbered in a book, where each had its little account, as 
merchants’ customers have theirs. When there was any 
question as to a man or a family needing help, the lawyer 
could always command information from the police. 

Lavienne, a man made for his master, was his aide-de-camp. 
He redeemed or renewed pawn-tickets, and visited the dis- 
tricts most threatened with famine, while his master was in 
court. 

From four till seven in the morning in summer, from six 
till nine in winter, this room was full of women, children, 
and paupers, while Popinot gave audience. There was no 
need fora stove in winter; the crowd was so dense that the 
air was warmed; only Lavienne strewed straw on the wet 
floor. By long use the benches were as polished as varnished 
mahogany ; at the height of a man’s shoulders the wall had a 
coat of dark, indescribable color, given to it by the rags and 
tattered clothes of these poor creatures. ‘The poor wretches 


300 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


loved Popinot so well that when they assembled before his 
door was opened, before daybreak on a winter’s morning, the 
women warming themselves with their foot-brasiers, the men 
swinging their arms for circulation, never a sound had dis- 
turbed his sleep. Rag-pickers and other toilers of the night 
knew the house, and often saw a light burning in the lawyer’s 
private room at unholy hours. Even thieves, as they passed 
by, said, ‘‘ That is his house,’’ and respected it. The morn- 
ing he gave to the poor, the mid-day hours to criminals, the 
evening to law work. 

Thus the gift of observation that characterized Popinot was 
necessarily di/rons; he could guess the virtues of a pauper— 
good feelings nipped, fine actions in embryo, unrecognized 
self-sacrifice, just as he could read at the bottom of a man’s 
conscience the faintest outlines of a crime, the slenderest 
threads of wrongdoing, and infer all the rest. 

Popinot’s inherited fortune was a thousand crowns a year. 
His wife, sister to M. Bianchon, senior, a doctor at Sancerre, 
had brought him about twice as much. She, dying five years 
since, had left her fortune to her husband. As the salary of 
a supernumerary judge is not large, and Popinot had been a 
fully salaried judge only for four years, we may guess his 
reasons for parsimony in all that concerned his person and 
mode of life, when we consider how small his means were and 
how great his beneficence. Besides, is not such indifference 
to dress as stamped Popinot an absent-minded man, a dis- 
tinguishing mark of scientific attainment, of art passionately 
pursued, of a perpetually active mind? ‘To complete this 
portrait, it will be enough to add that Popinot was also one 
of the few judges of the Court of the Seine on whom the 
distinguishing ribbon of the Legion of Honor had not been 
conferred. 

Such was the man who had been instructed by the President 
of the Second Chamber of the Court—to which Popinot had 
‘belonged since his reinstatement among the judges in civil 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 301 


law—to examine the Marquis d’Espard at the request of his 
wife, who sued fora Commission in Lunacy. 

The Rue du Fouarre, where so many unhappy wretches 
swarmed in the early morning, would be deserted by nine 
o’clock, and as gloomy and squalid as ever. Bianchon put 
his horse to a trot in order to find his uncle in the midst of 
his business. It was not without a smile that he thought of 
the curious contrast the judge’s appearance would make in 
Madame d’Espard’s room ; but he promised himself that he 
would persuade him to dress in a way that should not be too 
ridiculous. 


“If only my uncle happens to have a new coat!’’ said 
Bianchon to himself, as he turned into the Rue du Fouarre, 
where a pale light shone from the parlor windows. ‘‘I shall 


do well, I believe, to talk that over with Lavienne.”’ 

At the sound of wheels half a score of startled paupers came 
out from under the gateway, and took off their hats on recog- 
nizing Bianchon ; for the doctor, who treated gratuitously the 
sick recommended to him by the lawyer, was not less well 
known than he to the poor creatures assembled there. 

Bianchon found his uncle in the middle of the parlor, 
where the benches were occupied by patients presenting such 
grotesque singularities of costume as would have made the 
least artistic passer-by turn round to gaze at them. A 
draughtsman—a Rembrandt, if there were one in our day— 
might have conceived of one of his finest compositions from 
seeing these children of misery, in artless attitudes, and all 
silent. 

Here was the rugged countenance of an old man with a 
white beard and an apostolic head—a Saint Peter ready to 
hand; his chest, partly uncovered, showed salient muscles, 
the evidence of an iron consititution which had served him as 
a fulcrum to resist a whole poem of sorrows. There a young 
woman was suckling her youngest-born to keep it from crying, 
while another of about five stood between her knees. Her 


302 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


white bosom, gleaming amid rags, the baby with its trans- 
parent flesh-tints, and the brother, whose, attitude promised a 
street arab in the future, touched the fancy with pathos by its 
almost graceful contrast with the long row of faces crimson 
with cold, in the midst of which sat this family group. 
Further away, an old woman, pale and rigid, had the repul- 
sive look of rebellious pauperism, eager to avenge all its past 
woes in one day of violence. 

There, again, was the young workman, weakly and indolent, 
whose brightly intelligent eye revealed fine faculties crushed 
by necessity struggled with in vain, saying nothing of his 
sufferings, and nearly dead for lack of an opportunity to 
squeeze between the bars of the vast stews where the wretched 
swim round and round and devour each other. 

The majority were women; their husbands, gone to their 
work, left it to them, no doubt, to plead the cause of the 
family with the ingenuity which characterizes the woman of 
the people, who is almost always queen in her hovel. You 
would have seen a torn bandana on every head, on every form 
a skirt deep in mud, ragged kerchiefs, worn and dirty jackets, 
but eyes that burnt like live coals. It was a horrible assem- 
blage, raising at first sight a feeling of disgust, but giving a 
certain sense of terror the instant you perceived that the 
resignation of these souls, all engaged in the struggle for 
every necessary of life, was purely fortuitous, a speculation 
on benevolence. The two tallow candles which lighted the 
parlor flickered in a sort of fog caused by the fetid atmos- 
phere of the ill-ventilated room. 

The magistrate himself was not the least picturesque figure 
in the midst of this assembly. He had on his head a rusty 
cotton night-cap; as he had no cravat, his neck was visible, 
red with cold and wrinkled, in contrast with the threadbare 
collar of his old dressing-gown. His worn face had the half- 
stupid look that comes of absorbed attention. His lips, like 
those of all men who work, were puckered up like a bag with 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 303 


the strings drawn tight. His knitted brows seemed to bear 
the burden of all the sorrows confided to him: he felt, anal- 
yzed, and judged them all. As watchful as a Jew money- 
lender, he never raised his eyes from his books and registers 
but to look into the very heart of the persons he was examin- 
ing, with the flashing glance by which a miser expresses his 
alarm. 

Lavienne, standing behind his master, ready to carry out 
his orders, served no doubt as a sort of police, and welcomed 
new-comers by encouraging them to get over their shyness. 
When the doctor appeared there was a stir on the benches. 
Lavienne turned his head, and was strangely surprised to 
see Bianchon. 

“Ah! It isyou, old boy!’’ exclained Popinot, stretching 
himself. ‘‘ What brings you so early ?”’ 

‘¢T was afraid lest you should make an official visit about 
which I wish to speak to you before I could see you.’’ 

<¢Well,’’ said the lawyer, addressing a stout little woman 
who was still standing close to him, ‘‘if you do not tell me 
what it is you want, I cannot guess it, child.”’ 

“‘Make haste,’’ said Lavienne. ‘‘Do not waste other 
people’s time.”’ 

‘‘Monsieur,’’ said the woman at last, turning red, and 
speaking so low as only to be heard by Popinot and Lavienne, 
‘‘T have a green-grocery truck, and I have my last baby out 
at nurse, and I owe for his keep. Well, I had hidden my 
little bit of money aM 

‘©Yes; and your man took it?’’ said Popinot, guessing the 
sequel. 

COMES Site 

‘‘What is your name? ”’ 

“‘La Pomponne.’’ 

«« And your husband’s ? ”’ 

<eToupinet.”7 

“Rue du Petit-Banquier ?’’ said Popinot, turning over his 


? 





304 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


register. ‘‘ He is in prison,’’ he added, reading a note at the 
margin of the section in which this family was described. 

«For debt, my kind monsieur.”’ 

Popinot shook his head. 

‘‘But I have nothing to buy any stock for my truck; the 
landlord came yesterday and made me pay up; otherwise I 
should have been turned out.” 

Lavienne bent over his master, and whispered in his ear. 

‘¢ Well, how much do you want to buy fruit in the market ?”’ 

‘“Why, my good monsieur, to carry on my business, I 
should want—yes, I should certainly want ten francs.’’ 

Popinot signed to Lavienne, who took ten francs out of a 
large bag, and handed them to the woman, while the lawyer 
made a note of the loan in his ledger. As he saw the thrill 
of delight that made the poor hawker tremble, Bianchon 
understood the apprehensions that must have agitated her on 
her way to the lawyer’s house. 

“¢ You next,’’ said Lavienne to the old man with the white 
beard. 

Bianchon drew the servant aside, and asked him how long 
this audience would last. 

** Monsieur has had two hundred persons this morning, and 
there are eighty to be turned off,’’ said Lavienne. ‘‘ You 
will have time to pay your early visit, sir.”’ 

‘‘ Here, my boy,”’ said the lawyer, turning round and tak- 
ing Horace by the arm; ‘‘ here are two addresses near this— 
one in the Rue de Seine and the other in the Rue de 1’ Arbaleéte. 
Go there at once. Rue de Seine, a young girl has just asphyx- 
iated herself ; and Rue de |’Arbaléte, you will find a man to 
remove to your hospital. I will wait breakfast for you.’’ 

Bianchon returned an hour later. The Rue du Fouarre was 
deserted ; day was beginning to dawn there; his uncle had 
gone up to his rooms ; the last poor wretch whose misery the 
judge had relieved was departing, and Lavienne’s money-bag 
was empty. 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 305 


‘‘ Well, how are they getting on?’’ asked the old lawyer, 
as the doctor came in. . 

‘<The man is dead,” replied Bianchon; ‘the girl will get 
Over It.) 

Since the eye and hand of a woman had been lacking, the 
flat in which Popinot lived had assumed an aspect in harmony 
with its master’s. The indifference of a man who is absorbed 
in one dominant idea had set its stamp of eccentricity on 
everything. Everywhere lay unconquerable dust, every object 
was adapted to a wrong purpose with a pertinacity suggestive 
of a bachelor’s home. There were papers in the flower vases, 
empty ink bottles on the tables, plates that had been forgotten, 
matches used as tapers for a minute when something had to 
be found, drawers or boxes half-turned out and left unfinished ; 
in short, all the confusion and vacancies resulting from plans 
for order never carried out. The lawyer’s private room, 
especially disordered by this incessant rummage, bore witness 
to his unresting pace, the hurry of a man overwhelmed with 
business, hunted by contradictory necessities. The bookcase 
looked as if it had been sacked; there were books scattered 
over everything, some piled up, open, one on another, others 
on the floor face downwards; registers of proceedings laid on 
the floor in rows, lengthwise, in front of the shelves; and that 
floor had not been polished for two years. 

The tables and shelves were covered with ex vofos, the 
offerings of the grateful poor. On a pair of blue glass jars 
which ornamented the chimney-shelf there were two glass 
balls, of which the core was made up of many colored frag- 
ments, giving them the appearance of some singular natural 
product. Against the wall hung frames of artificial flowers, 
and decorations in which Popinot’s initials were surrounded 
by hearts and everlasting flowers. Here were boxes of elabo- 
rate and useless cabinet-work ; there letter-weights carved in 
the style of work done by convicts in penal servitude. These 
masterpieces of patience, enigmas of gratitude, and withered 

20 


306 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


bouquets gave the lawyer’s room the appearance of a toyshop, 
The good man used these works of art as hiding-places which 
he filled with bills, wornout pens, and scraps of paper. All 
these pathetic witnesses to his divine charity were thick with 
dust, dingy, and faded. 

Some birds, beautifully stuffed, but eaten by moths, perched 
in this wilderness of trumpery, presided over by an Angora 
cat, Madame Popinot’s pet, restored to her no doubt with all 
the graces of life by some impecunious naturalist, who thus 
repaid a gift of charity with a perennial treasure. Some local 
artist whose heart had misguided his brush had painted por- 
traits of M. and Madame Popinot. Even in the bedroom 
there were embroidered pincushions, landscapes in cross-stitch, 
and crosses in folded paper, so elaborately cockled as to show 
the senseless labor they had cost. 

The window curtains were black with smoke, and the hang- 
ings absolutely colorless. Between the fireplace and the large 
square table at which the magistrate worked, the cook had set 
two cups of coffee on a small table, and two armchairs, in 
mahogany and horsehair, awaited the uncle and nephew. As 
daylight, darkened by the windows, could not penetrate to 
this corner, the cook had left two dips burning, whose un- 
snuffed wicks showed a sort of mushroom growth, giving the 
red light which promises length of life to the candle from 
slowness of combustion—a discovery due, no doubt, to some 
miser with an inventive turn of mind. 

“My dear uncle, you ought to wrap yourself more warmly 
when you go down to that parlor.’’ 

“‘T cannot bear to keep them waiting, poor souls ! 
and what do you want of me?”’ 

‘‘T have come to ask you to dine to-morrow with the 
Marquise d’Espard.”’ 

«© A relation of ours?’’ asked Popinot, with such genuine 
absence of mind that Bianchon laughed. 

**No, uncle; the Marquise d’Espard is a high and puissant 





Well, 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 307 


lady, who has laid before the courts a petition desiring that a 
Commission in Lunacy should sit on her husband, and you are 
appointed——_”’ 

‘¢ And you want me to dine with her! Are you mad ?’’ said 
the lawyer, taking up the code of proceedings. ‘‘ Here, only 
read this article, prohibiting any magistrate’s eating or drink- 
ing in the house of either of two parties whom he is called 
upon to decide between. Let her come and see me, your 
Marquise, if she has anything to say to me. I was in fact 
to go to examine her husband to-morrow, after working the 
case up to-night.”’ 

He rose, took up a packet of papers that lay under a weight 
where he could see it, and after reading the title, he said— 

‘Here is the affidavit. Since you take an interest in this 
high and puissant lady, let us see what she wants.”’ 

Popinot wrapped his dressing-gown across his body, from 
which it was constantly slipping and leaving his chest bare; 
he sopped his bread in the half-cold coffee, and opened the 
petition, which he read, allowing himself to throw in a paren- 
thesis now and then, and some discussions, in which his 
nephew took part: 

‘¢<To Monsieur the President of the Civil Tribunal of the 
Lower Court of the Department of the Seine, sitting at the 
Palais de Justice. 

“**Madame Jeanne Clémentine Athénais de Blamont- 
Chauvry, wife of M. Charles Maurice Marie Andoche, Comte 
de Négrepelisse, Marquis d’Espard’—a very good family— 
‘landowner, the said Mme. d’Espard living in the Rue du 
Faubourg Saint-Honoré, No. 104, and the said M. d’Espard 
in the Rue de la Montagne-Sainte-Geneviéve, No. 22 ’—to be 
sure, the President told me he lived in this part of the town— 
‘having for her solicitor Maitre Desroches’—Desroches! a 
pettifogging jobber, a man looked down upon by his brother 
lawyers, and who does his clients no good a 

‘‘Poor fellow!’’ said Bianchon, ‘‘unluckily he has no 





308 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


money, and he rushes round like the devil in holy water— 
That is all.”’ 

‘¢« Has the honor to submit to you, Monsieur the President, 
that for a year past the moral and intellectual powers of her 
husband, M. d’Espard, have undergone so serious a change, 
that at the present day they have reached the state of dementia 
and idiotcy provided for by Article 448 of the Civil Code, 
and require the application of the remedies set forth by that 
article, for the security of his fortune and his person, and to 
guard the interest of his children whom he keeps to live with 
him. 

““«That, in point of fact, the mental condition of M. 
d’Espard, which for some years has given grounds for alarm 
based on the system he has pursued in the management of his 
affairs, has reached, during the last twelvemonth a deplorable 
depth of depression ; that his infirm will was the first thing to 
show the results of the malady ; and that its effete state leaves 
M. the Marquis d’ Espard exposed to all the perils of his incom- 
petency, as is proved by the following facts : 

*¢¢ For a long time all the income accruing from M. d’Es- 
pard’s estates are paid, without any reasonable cause, or even 
temporary advantage, into the hands of an old woman, whose 
repulsive ugliness is generally remarked on, named Madame 
Jeanrenaud, living sometimes in Paris, Rue de la Vrilliére, 
No. 8, sometimes at Villeparisis, near Claye, in the Depart- 
ment of Seine et Marne, and for the benefit of her son, aged 
thirty-six, an officer in the ex-Imperial Guards, whom the 
Marquis d’Espard has placed by his influence in the King’s 
Guards, as Major in the First Regiment of Cuirassiers. These 
two persons, who in 1814 were in extreme poverty, have since 
then purchased house-property of considerable value ; among 
other items, quite recently, a large house in the Grande Rue 
Verte, where the said Jeanrenaud is laying out considerable 
sums in order to settle there with the woman Jeanrenaud, 
intending to marry ; the sums amount already to more than a 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 309 


hundred thousand francs. The marriage has been arranged 
by the intervention of M. d’Espard with his banker, one 
Mongenod, whose niece he has asked in marriage for the said 
Jeanrenaud, promising to use his influence to procure him the 
title and dignity of Baron. This has in fact been secured by 
his majesty’s letters-patent, dated December 2gth of last year, 
at the request of the Marquis d’Espard, as can be proved by 
his excellency the Keeper of the Seals, if the court should 
think proper to require his testimony. 

‘©¢That no reason, not even such as morality and the law 
would concur in disapproving, can justify the influence which 
the said Mme. Jeanrenaud exerts over M. d’Espard, who, in- 
deed, sees her very seldom; nor account for his strange affection 
for the said Baron Jeanrenaud, Major, with whom he has but 
little intercourse. And yet their power is so considerable, 
that whenever they need money, if only to gratify a mere 
whim, this lady or her son ’ Heh, heh! xo reason even 
such as morality and the law concur in disapproving ! What 
does the clerk or the attorney mean to insinuate ?’’ said Pop- 
inot. 

Bianchon laughed. 

«¢<This lady, or her son, obtain whatever they ask of the 
Marquis d’Espard without demur; and if he has not ready 
money, M. d’Espard draws bills to be paid by the said Mon- 
genod, who has offered to give evidence to that effect for the 
petitioner. 

‘¢«That, moreover, in further proof of these facts, lately, 
on the occasion of the renewal of the leases on the Espard 
estate, the farmers having paid a considerable premium for the 
renewal of their leases on the old terms, .the said M. Jean- 
renaud at once secured the payment of the money into his 
own hands. 

‘¢«That the Marquis d’Espard parts with these sums of 
money so little of his own free-will, that when he was spoken 
to on the subject he seemed to remember nothing of the 





310 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


matter; that whenever anybody of any weight has questioned 
him as to his devotion to these two persons, his replies have 
shown so complete an absence of ideas and of sense of his own 
interests, that there obviously must be some occult cause at 
work to which the petitioner begs to direct the eye of justice, 
inasmuch as it is impossible but that this cause should be 
criminal, malignant, and wrongful, or else of a nature to come 
under medical jurisdiction ; unless this influence is of the kind 
which constitutes an abuse of moral power—such as can only 
be described by the word Jossesston ” The devil,’ lex 
claimed Popinot. ‘‘ What do you say to that, doctor? These 
are strange statements.’’ 

‘*They might certainly,’’ said Bianchon, ‘‘ be an effect of 
magnetic force.’’ 

““Then do you believe in Mesmer’s nonsense, and his tub, 
and seeing through walls? ”’ 





** Yes, uncle,’’ said the doctor gravely. ‘‘ As I heard you 
read that petition I thought of that. I assure you that I have 
verified, in another sphere of action, several analogous facts 
proving the unlimited influence one man may acquire over 
another. In contradiction to the opinion of my brethren, I’ 
am perfectly convinced of the power of the will regarded as a 
motor force. All collusion and charlatanism apart, I have 
seen the results of such a possession, Actions promised dur- 
ing sleep by a magnetized patient to the magnetizer have been 
scrupulously performed on waking. The will of one had 
become the will of the other.”’ 

‘«Every kind of action ?”’ 

peViegi? 

«Even a criminal act ?’’ 

‘¢ Even a crime.’’ 

“‘Tf it were not from you, I would not listen to such a 
thing.” 

‘¢T will make you witness it,’’ said Bianchon. 

‘‘Hm, hm,’’ muttered the lawyer. ‘‘ But supposing that 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 311 


this so-called possession fell under this class of facts, it would 
be difficult to prove it as legal evidence.”’ 

‘¢Tf this woman Jeanrenaud is so hideously old and ugly, I 
do not see what other means of fascination she can have used,’’ 
observed Bianchon. 

‘But,’ observed the lawyer, ‘‘in 1814, the time at which 
this fascination is supposed to have taken place, this woman 
was fourteen years younger; if she had been connected with 
M. d’Espard ten years before that, these calculations take us 
back four-and-twenty years, to a time when the lady may have 
been young and pretty, and have won for herself and her son 
a power over M. d’Espard which some men do not know how 
to evade. ‘Though the source of this power is reprehensible 
in the sight of justice, it is justifiable in the eye of nature. 
Madame Jeanrenaud may have been aggrieved by the mar- 
riage, contracted probably at about that time, between the 
Marquis d’Espard and Mademoiselle de Blamont-Chauvry, 
and at the bottom of all this there may be nothing more than 
the rivalry of two women, since the Marquis has for a long 
time lived apart from Mme. d’Espard.”’ 

‘But her repulsive ugliness, uncle.’’ 

‘* Power of fascination is in direct proportion to ugliness,”’ 
said the lawyer; ‘‘ that is an old story. And then think of 
the smallpox, doctor. But to proceed: 

“‘« That so long ago as in 1815, in order to supply the 
sums of money required by these two persons, the Marquis 
d’Espard went with his two children to live in the Rue de la 
Montagne-Sainte-Geneviéve, in rooms quite unworthy of his 
name and rank ’—well, we may live as we please—‘ that he 
keeps his two children there, the Comte Clément d’Espard 
and Vicomte Camille d’Espard, in a style of living quite 
unsuited to their future prospects, their name and fortune ; 
that he often wants money, to such a point, that not long 
since the landlord, one Mariast, put in an execution on the 
furniture in the rooms; that when this execution was carried 


¥. 


312 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


out in his presence, the Marquis d’Espard helped the bailiff, 
whom he treated like a man of rank, paying him all the marks 
of attention and respect which he would have shown to a 
person of superior birth and dignity to himself.’ ”’ 

The uncle and nephew glanced at each other and laughed. 

«¢¢ That, moreover, every act of his life, besides the facts 
with reference to the widow Jeanrenaud and the Baron 
Jeanrenaud, her son, are those of a madman; that for nearly 
ten years he has given his thoughts exclusively to China, its 
customs, manners, and history; that he refers everything toa 
Chinese origin; that when he is questioned on the subject, he 
confuses the events of the day and the business of yesterday 
with facts relating to China; that he censures the acts of the 
government and the conduct of the King, though he is 
personally much attached to him, by comparing them with the 
politics of China. 

‘©«That this monomania has driven the Marquis d’Espard 
to conduct devoid of all sense: against the customs of men 
of rank, and, in opposition to his own professed ideas as to 
the duties of the nobility, he has joined a commercial under- 
taking, for which he constantly draws bills which, as they fall 
due, threaten both his honor and his fortune, since they 
stamp him as a trader, and in default of payment may lead to 
his being declared insolvent; that these debts, which are 
owing to stationers, printers, lithographers, and print-colorists, 
who have supplied the materials for his publication, called 
‘* A Picturesque History of China,’’ now coming out in parts, 
are so heavy that these tradesmen have requested the peti- 
tioner to apply for a Commission in Lunacy with regard to the 
Marquis d’Espard in order to save their own credit.’ ”’ 

‘©The man is mad!’’ exclaimed Bianchon. 

‘¢You think so, do you?’’ said his uncle. ‘If you listen 
to only one bell, you hear only one sound.”’ 

‘But it seems to me ’? said Bianchon. 

‘« But it seems to me,’’ said Popinot, ‘‘ that if any relation 





THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 313 


of mine wanted to get hold of the management of my affairs, 
and if, instead of being a humble lawyer, whose colleagues 
can, any day, verify what his condition is, I were a duke of 
the realm, an attorney with a little cunning, like Desroches, 
might bring just such a petition aginst me. 

*©«That his children’s education has been neglected for 
this monomania ; and that he has taught them, against all the 
rules of education, the facts of Chinese history, which con- 
tradict the tenets of the Catholic Church. He also has them 
taught the Chinese dialects.’ ”’ 

‘Here Desroches strikes me as funny,’’ said Bianchon. 

“‘The petition is drawn up by his head clerk Godeschal, 
who, as you know, is not strong in Chinese,’’ said the lawyer. 

“‘< That he often leaves his children destitute of the most 
necessary things; that the petitioner, notwithstanding her 
entreaties, can never see them; that the said Marquis d’Es- 
pard brings them to her only once a year; that, knowing the 
privations to which they are exposed, she makes vain efforts 
to give them the things most necessary for their existence, 
and which they require Oh! Madame la Marquise, 
this is preposterous. By proving too much you prove 
nothing. My dear boy,’’ said the old man, laying the 
document on his knee, ‘‘ where is the mother who ever lacked 
heart and wit and yearning to such a degree as to fall below 
the inspiration suggested by her animal instinct? A mother 
is as cunning to get at her children asa girl can be in the 
conduct ofa love intrigue. If your Marquise really wanted to 
give her children food and clothes, the devil himself would 
not have hindered her, heh? That is rather too big a fable 
for an old lawyer to swallow? To proceed: 

«¢« That at the age the said children have now attained it is 
necessary that steps should be taken to preserve them from the 
evil effects of such an education ; that they should be provided 
for as beseems their rank, and that they should cease to have 
before their eyes the sad example of their father’s conduct. 





ol4 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


««<’That there are proofs in support of these allegations 
which the court can easily order to be produced. Many 
times has M. d’Espard spoken of the judge of the Twelfth 
Arrondissement as a mandarin of the third class; he often 
speaks of the professors of the Collége Henri IV. as ‘‘ men of 
letters’’’—and that offends them! ‘In speaking of the 
simplest things, he says, ‘‘ They were not done so in China ;”’ 
in the course of the most ordinary conversation he will some- 
times allude to Madame Jeanrenaud, or sometimes to events 
which happened in the time of Louis XIV., and then sit 
plunged in the darkest melancholy ; sometimes he fancies he 
isin China. Several of his neighbors, among others one Edmé 
Becker, medical student, and Jean Baptiste Frémiot, a profes- 
sor, living under the same roof, are of opinion, after frequent 
intercourse with the Marquis d’Espard, that his monomania 
with regard to everything Chinese is the result of a scheme 
laid bythe said Baron Jeanrenaud and the widow his mother 
to bring about the deadening of all the Marquis d’Espard’s 
mental faculties, since the only service which Mme. Jean- 
renaud appears to render M. d’Espard is to procure him 
everything that relates to the Chinese Empire. 

“«¢Finally, that the petitioner is prepared to show the 
court that the moneys absorbed by the said Baron and Mme. 
Jeanrenaud between 1814 and 1828 amount to not less than 
one million francs. 

*<«Tn confirmation of the facts herein set forth, the peti- 
tioner can bring the evidence of persons who are in the habit 
of seeing the Marquis d’Espard, whose names and professions 
are subjoined, many of whom have urged her to demand a 
commission in lunacy to declare M. d’Espard incapable of 
managing his own affairs, as being the only way to preserve 
his fortune from the effects of his maladministration and his 
children from his fatal influence. 

*«¢ Taking all this into consideration, M. le Président, and 
the affidavits subjoined, the petitioner desires that it may 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 315 


please you, inasmuch as the foregoing facts sufficiently prove 
the insanity and incompetency of the Marquis d’Espard herein 
described with his titles and residence, to order that, to the 
end that he may be declared incompetent by law, this petition 
and the documents in evidence may be laid before the King’s 
public prosecutor ; and that you will charge one of the judges 
of this court to make his report to you on any day you may be 
pleased to name, and thereupon to pronounce judgment,’ etc. 

«¢ And here,’’ said Popinot, ‘‘is the President’s order in- 
structing me !—Well, what does the Marquise d’Espard want 
with me? I knoweverything. But I shall go to-morrow with 
my registrar to see M. le Marquis, for this does not seem at 
all clear to me.”’ 

“Listen, my dear uncle, I have never asked the least little 
favor of you that had to do with your legal functions; well, 
I now beg you to show Madame d’Espard the kindness which 
her situation deserves. If she came here, you would listen to 
her?’ 

BuWes.t” 

‘‘ Well, then, go and listen to her in her own house. 
Madame d’Espard is a sickly, nervous, delicate woman, who 
would faint in your rat’s hole of a place. Go in the evening, 
instead of accepting her dinner, since the law forbids your 
eating or drinking at your client’s expense.”’ 

“And does not the law forbid you from taking any legacy 
from your dead ?”’ said Popinot, fancying that he saw a touch 
of irony on his nephew’s lips. 

“Come, uncle, if it were only to enable you to get at the 
truth of this business, grant my request. You will come as 
the examining judge, since matters do not seem to you very 
clear. Deuce take it! It is as necessary to cross-question 
the Marquise as it is to examine the Marquis.”’ 

‘¢ You are right,’’ said the lawyer. ‘‘It is quite possible 
that it is she who is mad. I will go.”’ 

“‘T will call for you. Write down in your engagement 


316 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


book: ‘To-morrow evening at nine, Madame d’Espard.’ 
Good !’’ said Bianchon, seeing his uncle make a note of the 
engagement. 


Next evening at nine Bianchon mounted his uncle’s dusty 
staircase, and found him at work on the statement of some 
complicated judgment. The coat Lavienne had ordered of 
the tailor had not been sent, so Popinot put on his old stained 
coat, and was the Popinot unadorned whose appearance made 
those laugh who did not know the secrets of his private life. 
Bianchon, however, obtained permission to pull his cravat 
straight, and to button his coat, and he hid the stains by 
crossing the breast of it with the right side over the left, and 
so displaying the new front of the cloth. But in a minute 
the judge rucked the coat up over his chest by the way in 
which he stuffed his hands into his pockets, obeying an irre- 
sistible habit. Thus the coat, deeply wrinkled both in front 
and behind, made a sort of hump in the middle of the back, 
leaving a gap between the waistcoat and trousers through 
which his shirt showed. Bianchon, to his sorrow, only dis- 
covered this crowning absurdity at the moment when his uncle 
entered the Marquise’s room. 

A brief sketch of the person and the career of the lady in 
whose presence the doctor and the judge now found them- 
selves is necessary for an understanding of her interview with 
Popinot. 

Madame d’Espard had, for the last seven years, been very 
much the fashion in Paris, where fashion can raise and drop 
by turn various personages who, now great and now small, 
that is to say, in view or forgotten, are at last quite intoler- 
able—as discarded ministers are, and every kind of decayed 
_ sovereignty. These flatterers of the past, odious with their 
stale pretensions, know everything, speak ill of everything, 
and, like ruined profligates, are friends with all the world. 
Since her husband had separated from her in 1815, Madame 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 317 


d’Espard must have married in the beginning of 1812. Her 
children, therefore, were aged respectively fifteen and thir- 
teen. By what luck was the mother of a family, about three- 
and-thirty years of age, still the fashion? 

Though fashion is capricious, and no one can foresee who 
shall be her favorites, though she often exalts a banker’s wife, 
or some woman of very doubtful elegance and beauty, it 
certainly seems supernatural when fashion puts on constitu- 
tional airs and gives promotion for age. But in this case 
fashion had done as the world did, and accepted Madame 
d’Espard as still young. 

The Marquise, who was thirty-three by her register of birth, 
was twenty-two in a drawing-room in the evening. But by 
what care, what artifice! Elaborate curls shaded her temples, 
She condemned herself to live in twilight, affecting illness so 
as to sit under the protecting tones of light filtered through 
muslin. Like Diane de Poitiers, she used cold water in her 
bath, and, like her again, the Marquise slept on a horsehair 
mattress, with morocco-covered pillows to preserve her hair ; 
she ate very little, only drank water, and observed monastic 
regularity in the smallest actions of her life. 

This severe system has, it is said, been carried so far as to 
the use ef ice instead of water, and nothing but cold food, by 
a famous Polish lady of our day who spends a life, now verging 
on a century old, after the fashion of a town belle. Fated to 
live as long as Marion Delorme, whom history has credited 
with surviving to be a hundred and thirty, the old vice-queen 
of Poland, at the age of nearly a hundred, has the heart and 
brain of youth, a charming face, an elegant shape; and in her 
conversation, sparkling with brilliancy like faggots in the fire, 
she can compare the men and books of our literature with the 
men and books of the eighteenth century. Living in Warsaw, 
she orders her caps of Herbault in Paris. She is a great lady 
with the amiability of a mere girl; she swims, she runs like a 
schoolboy, and can sink on to a sofa with the grace of a young 


318 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


coquette ; she mocks at death, and laughs at life. After having 
astonished the Emperor Alexander, she can still amaze the 
Emperor Nicholas by the splendor of her entertainments. She 
can still bring tears to the eyes of a youthful lover, for her 
age is whatever she pleases, and she has the exquisite self- 
devotion of a gvisette. In short, she is herself a fairy tale, 
unless, indeed, she is a fairy. 

Had Madame d’Espard known Madame Zayonseck? Did she 
mean to imitate her career? Be that as it may, the Marquise 
proved the merits of the treatment; her complexion was 
clear, her brow unwrinkled, her figure, like that of Henri II.’s 
lady-love, preserved the litheness, the freshness, the covered 
charms which bring a woman love and keep it alive. The 
simple precautions of this course, suggested by art and nature, 
and perhaps by experience, had met in her witha general system 
which confirmed the results. The Marquise was absolutely 
indifferent to everything that was not herself: men amused 
her, but no man had ever caused her those deep agitations 
which stir both natures to their depths, and wreck one or the 
other. She knew neither hatred nor love. When she was 
offended, she avenged herself coldly, quietly, at her leisure, 
waiting for the opportunity to gratify the ill-will she cherished 
against anybody who dwelt in her unfavorable remembrance. 
She made no fuss, she did not excite herself; she talked, 
because she knew that by two words a woman may cause the 
death of three men. 

She had parted from M. d’Espard with the greatest satisfac- 
tion. Had he not taken with him two children who at present 
were troublesome, and in the future would stand in the way 
of her pretensions? Her most intimate friends, as much 
as her least persistent admirers, seeing about her none of 
Cornelia’s jewels, who come and go, and unconsciously betray 
their mother’s age, took her for quite a young woman. The 
two boys, about whom she seemed so anxious in her petition, 
were like their father, as unknown in the world as the north- 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 319 


west passage is unknown to navigators. M. d’Espard was 
supposed to be an eccentric personage who had deserted his 
wife without having the smallest cause for complaint against 
her. 

Mistress of herself at two-and-twenty, and mistress of her 
fortune of twenty-six thousand francs a year, the Marquise 
hesitated long before deciding on a course of action and order- 
ing her life. Though she benefited by the expenses her 
husband had incurred in his house, though she had all the 
furniture, the carriages, the horses, in short, all the details of 
a handsome establishment, she lived a retired life during the 
years 1816, 17, and 18, a time when families were recovering 
from the disasters resulting from political tempests. She be- 
longed to one of the most important and illustrious families 
of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, and her parents advised her 
to live with them as much as possible after the separation 
forced upon her by her husband’s singular and inexplicable 
caprice. 

In 1820 the Marquise roused herself from her lethargy ; 
she went to Court, appeared at parties, and entertained in her 
own house. From 1821 to 1827 she lived in great style, and 
made herself remarked for her taste and her dress; she had a 
day, an hour, for receiving visits, and ere long she had seated 
herself on the throne, occupied before her by Madame la 
Vicomtesse de Beauséant, the Duchesse de Langeais, and 
Madame Firmiani—who on her marriage with M. de Camps 
had resigned the sceptre in favor of the Duchesse de Maufrig- 
neuse, from whom Madame d’Espard snatched it. The world 
knew nothing beyond this of the private life of the Marquise 
d’Espard. She seemed likely to shine for long on the Paris- 
ian horizon, like the sun near its setting, but which will 
never set. 

The Marquise was on terms of great intimacy with a duchess 
as famous for her beauty as for her attachment to a prince just 
now in banishment, but accustomed to play a leading part in 


320 THE COMMISS/ON IN LUNACY, 


every prospective government. Madame d’Espard was also 
the friend of a foreign lady, with whom a famous and very 
wily Russian diplomate was in the habit of discussing public 
affairs. And then an antiquated countess, who was accus- 
tomed to shuffle the cards for the great game of politics, had 
adopted her in a maternal fashion. Thus, to any man of high 
ambitions, Madame d’Espard was preparing a covert but very 
real influence to follow the public and frivolous ascendency 
she now owed to fashion. Her drawing-room was acquiring 
political individuality: ‘‘What do they say at Madame 
d’Espard’s?’’ ‘Are they against the measure in Madame 
d’Espard’s drawing-room?’’ were questions repeated by a 
sufficient number of simpletons to give the flock of the faith- 
ful who surrounded her the importance of a coterie. <A few 
damaged politicians whose wounds she had bound up, and whom 
she flattered, pronounced her as capable in diplomacy as the 
wife of the Russian ambassador to London. The Marquise 
had indeed several times suggested to deputies or to peers 
words and ideas that had rung through Europe. She had 
often judged correctly of certain events on which her circle 
of friends dared not express an opinion. ‘The principal 
persons about the Court came in the evening to play whist in 
her rooms. 

Then she also had the qualities of her defects; she was 
thought to be—and she was—discreet. Her friendship seemed 
to be staunch; she worked for her protégés with a persistency 
which showed that she cared less for patronage than for in- 
creased influence. ‘This conduct was based on her dominant 
passion: Vanity. Conquests and pleasure, which so many 
women love, to her seemed only means to an end; she aimed 
at living on every point of the largest circle that life can 
describe. 

Among the men still young, and to whom the future be- 
longed, who crowded her drawing-room on great occasions, 
were to be seen MM. de Marsay and de Ronquerolles, de 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 321 


Montriveau, de la Roche-Hugon, de Sérizy, Ferraud, Maxime 
de Trailles, de Listomére, the two Vandenesses, du Chatelet, 
and others. She would frequently receive a man whose wife 
she would not admit, and her power was great enough to 
induce certain ambitious men to submit to these hard condi- 
tions, such as two famous royalist bankers, M. de Nucingen 
and Ferdinand du Tillet. She had so thoroughly studied the 
strength and the weakness of Paris life, that her conduct had 
never given any man the smallest advantage over her. An 
enormous price might have been set on a note or letter by 
which she might have compromised herself, without one being 
produced. 

If an arid soul enabled her to play her part to the life, her 
person was no less available for it. She had a youthful figure. 
Her voice was, at will, soft and fresh, or clear and hard. She 
possessed in the highest degree the secret of that aristocratic 
pose by which a woman wipes out the past. The Marquise 
knew well the art of setting an immense space between her- 
self and the sort of man who fancies he may be familiar after 
some chance advances. Her imposing gaze could deny every- 
thing. In her conversation fine and beautiful sentiments and 
noble resolutions flowed naturally, as it seemed, from a pure 
heart and soul ; but in reality she was all self, and quite capable 
of blasting a man who was clumsy in his negotiations, at the 
very time when she was shamelessly making a compromise for 
the benefit of her own interest. 

Rastignac, in trying to fasten on to this woman, had dis- 
cerned her to be the cleverest of tools, but he had not yet 
used it; far from handling it, he was already finding himself 
crushed by it. This young Condottiere of the brain, con- 
demned, like Napoleon, to give battle constantly, while 
knowing that a single defeat would prove the grave of his 
fortunes, had met a dangerous adversary in his protectress. 
For the first time in his turbulent life, he was playing a game 
with a partner worthy of him. He saw a place as Minister in 

21 


322 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


the conquest of Madame d’Espard, so he was her tool till he 
could make her his—a perilous beginning. 

The Hotel d’Espard needed a large household, and the 
Marquise had a great number of servants. The grand recep- 
tions were held in the ground-floor rooms, but she lived on 
the first floor of the house. The perfect order of a fine stair- 
case splendidly decorated, and rooms fitted in the dignified 
style which formerly prevailed at Versailles, spoke of an im- 
mense fortune. When the judge saw the carriage gates thrown 
open to admit his nephew’s cab, he took in with a rapid glance 
the lodge, the porter, the courtyard, the stables, the arrange- 
ment of the house, the flowers that decorated the stairs, the 
perfect cleanliness of the banisters, walls, and carpets, and 
counted the footmen in livery who, as the bell rang, appeared 
on the landing. His eyes, which only yesterday in his parlor 
had sounded the dignity of misery under the muddy clothing 
of the poor, now studied with the same penetrating vision the 
furniture and splendor of the rooms he passed through, to 
pierce to the misery of grandeur. 

‘¢M. Popinot. M. Bianchon.’’ 

The two names were pronounced at the door of the boudoir 
where the Marquise was sitting, a pretty room recently refur- 
nished, and looking out on the garden behind the house. 
At the moment Madame d’Espard was seated in one of the 
old-time armchairs of which Madame had set the fashion. 
Rastignac was at her left hand on a low chair, in which he 
looked settled like an Italian lady’s ‘‘cousin.’’ <A third 
person was standing by the corner of the chimney-piece. As 
the shrewd doctor had suspected, the Marquise was a woman 
of a parched and wiry constitution. But for her regimen her 
complexion must have taken the ruddy tone that is produced 
by constant heat ; but she added to the effect of her acquired 
pallor by the strong colors of the stuffs she hung her rooms 
with, or in which she dressed. Reddish-brown, marone, 
bistre with a golden light in it, suited her to perfection. Her 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 323 


boudoir, copied from that of a famous lady then at the height 
of fashion in London, was in tan-colored velvet ; but she had 
added various details of ornament which moderated the 
pompous splendor of this royal hue. Her hair was dressed 
like a girl’s in bands ending in curls, which emphasized the 
rather long oval of her face ; but an oval face is as majestic 
as a round one is ignoble. The mirrors, cut with facets to 
lengthen or flatten the face at will, amply prove the rule as 
applied to the physiognomy. 

On seeing Popinot, who stood in the doorway craning his 
neck like a startled animal, with his left hand in his pocket, 
and the right hand holding a hat with a greasy lining, the 
Marquise gave Rastignac a look wherein lay a germ of mock- 
ery. The good man’s rather foolish appearance was so com- 
pletely in harmony with his grotesque figure and scared looks, 
that Rastignac, catching sight of Bianchon’s dejected expres- 
sion of humiliation through his uncle, could not help laugh- 
ing, and turned away. The Marquise bowed a greeting, and 
made a great effort to rise from her seat, falling back again, 
not without grace, with an air of apologizing for her incivility 
by affected weakness. 

At this instant the person who was standing between the 
fireplace and the door bowed slightly, and pushed forward two 
chairs, which he offered by a gesture to the doctor and the 
judge; then, when they had seated themselves, he leaned 
against the wall again, crossing his arms. 

A word as to this man. There is living now, in our day, a 
painter—Decamps—who possesses in the very highest degree 
the art of commanding your interest in everything he sets 
before your eyes, whether it be a stone or a man. In this 
respect his pencil is more skilful than his brush. He will 
sketch an empty room and leave a broom against the wall. 
If he chooses, you shall shudder; you shall believe that this 
broom has just been the instrument of crime, and is dripping 
with blood ; it shall be the broom which the widow Bancal 


324 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


used to clean out the room where Fualdés was murdered. 
Yes, the painter will touzle that broom like a man in a rage; 
he will make each hair of it stand on end as though it were 
on your own bristling scalp; he will make it the interpreter 
between the secret poem of his imagination and the poem 
that shall have its birth in yours. After terrifying you by the 
aspect of that broom, to-morrow he will draw another, and 
lying by it a cat, asleep, but mysterious in its sleep, shall tell 
you that this broom is that on which the wife of a German 
cobbler rides off to the Sabbath on the Brocken. Or it will 
be a quite harmless broom, on which he will hang the coat of 
a clerk in the Treasury. Decamps had in his brush what 
Paganini had in his bow—a magnetically communicative 
power. 

Well, I should have to transfer to my style that striking 
genius, that marvelous knack of the pencil, to depict the up- 
right, tall, lean man dressed in black, with black hair, who 
stood there without speaking a word. ‘This gentleman had a 
face like a knife-blade, cold and harsh, with a color like Seine 
water when it is muddy and strewn with fragments of char- 
coal from a sunken barge. He looked at the floor, listening 
and passing judgment. His attitude was terrifying. He stood 
there like the dreadful broom to which Decamps has given the 
power of revealing acrime. Now and then, in the course of 
conversation, the Marquise tried to get some tacit advice ; but 
however eager her questioning, he was as grave and as rigid 
as the statue of the Commendatore. 

The worthy Popinot, sitting on the edge of his chair in 
front of the fire, his hat between his knees, stared at the gilt 
chandeliers, the clock, and the curiosities with which the 
chimney-shelf was covered, the velvet and trimmings of the 
curtains, and all the costly and elegant nothings that a woman 
of fashion collects about her. He was roused from his homely 
meditations by Madame d’Espard, who addressed him in a 
piping tone— 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 320 


? 





‘Monsieur, I owe you a million thanks 

‘*A million thanks,’’ thought he to himself, ‘that is too 
many; it does not mean one.”’ 

‘For the trouble you condescend 

“‘Condescend!’’ thought he; ‘‘she is laughing at me.’’ 

‘«To take in coming to see an unhappy client, who is too 
ill to go out t 

Here the lawyer cut the Marquise short by giving her an 
inquisitorial look, examining the sanitary condition of the 
unhappy client. 

** As sound as a bell,’’ said he to himself. 

‘‘Madame,”’ said he, assuming a respectful mien, ‘ you 
owe me nothing. Although my visit to you is not in strict 
accordance with the practice of the court, we ought to spare 
no pains to discover the truth in cases of this kind. Our 
judgment is then guided less by the letter of the law than by 
the promptings of our conscience. Whether I seek the truth 
here or in my own consulting-room, so long as I find it, all 
will be well.”’ 

While Popinot was speaking, Rastignac was shaking hands 
with Bianchon; the Marquise welcomed the doctor with a 
little bow full of gracious significance. 

‘¢ Who is that ?’’ asked Bianchon in a whisper of Rastignac, 
indicating the dark man. 

‘«The Chevalier d’#spard, the Marquis’ brother.’’ 

“‘ Your nephew told me,’’ said the Marquise to Popinot, 
‘¢how much you are occupied, and I know too that you are so 
good as to wish to conceal your kind actions, so as to release 
those whom you oblige from the burden of gratitude. The 
work in court is most fatiguing, it would seem. Why have 
they not twice as many judges? ”’ 

‘¢ Ah, madame, that would not be difficult; we should be 
none the worse if they had. But when that happens, fowls 
will cut their teeth! ’’- 

As he heard this speech, so entirely in character with the 


7? 








326 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


lawyer’s appearance, the Chevalier measured him from head to 
foot, out of one eye, as much as to say, ‘‘ We shall easily 
manage him!’’ 

The Marquise looked at Rastignac, who bent over her. 
‘« That is the sort of man,’? murmured the dandy in her ear, 
‘‘who is trusted to pass judgments on the life and interests of 
private individuals.”’ 

Like most men who have grown old in a business, Popinot 
readily let himself follow the habits he had acquired, more 
particularly habits of mind. His conversation was all of ‘‘ the 
shop.’’ He was fond of questioning those he talked to, 
forcing them to unexpected conclusions, making them tell 
more than they wished to reveal. Pozzo di Borgo, it is said, 
used to amuse himself by discovering other folks’ secrets, and 
entangling them in his diplomatic snares, and thus, by 
invincible habit, showed how his mind was soaked in wiliness. 
As soon as Popinot had surveyed the ground, so to speak, on 
which he stood, he saw that it would be necessary to have 
recourse to the cleverest subtleties, the most elaborately 
wrapped up and disguised, which were in use in the courts, to 
detect the truth. 

Bianchon sat cold and stern, as a man who has made up his 
mind to endure torture without revealing his sufferings; but 
in his heart he wished that his uncle could only trample on 
this woman as we trample on a viper—a comparison suggested 
to him by the Marquise’s long dress, by the curve of her 
attitude, her long neck, small head, and undulating move- 
ments. He felt that beneath the surface of her nature there 
lay a crafty spirit, designing to conceal the truth. 

‘Well, monsieur,’” said Madame d’Espard, ‘‘ however 
great my dislike to be or seem selfish, I have been suffering 
too long not to wish that you may settle matters at once. 
Shall I soon get a favorable decision ?’”’ 

‘‘ Madame, I will do my best to bring matters to a con- 
clusion,’’ said Popinot, with an air of frank good-nature. 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 327 


*¢ Are you ignorant of the reason which made the separation 
necessary which now subsists between you and the Marquis 
d’Espard ?”’ 

‘Ves, monsieur,’’ she replied, evidently prepared with a 
story to tell. ‘‘At the beginning of 1816 M. d’Espard, whose 
temper had completely changed within three months or so, 
proposed that we should go to live on one of his estates near 
Briangon, without any regard for my health, which that cli- 
mate would have destroyed, or for my habits of life; I refused 
to go. My refusal gave rise to such unjustifiable reproaches 
on his part, that from that hour I had my suspicions as to the 
soundness of his mind. On the following day he left me, 
leaving me his house and the free use of my own income, and 
he went to live in the Rue de la Montagne-Saint-Geneviéve, 


2? 





taking with him my two children 

**One moment, madame,”’ said the lawyer interrupting her. 
‘What was that income ?’”’ 

*«'Twenty-six thousand francs a year,’’ she replied paren- 
thetically. ‘I at once consulted old M. Bordin as to what I 
ought to do,’’ she went on; ‘‘ but it seems that there are so 
many difficulties in the way of depriving a father of the care 
of his children, that I was forced to resign myself to remain- 
ing alone at the age of twenty-two—an age at which many 
young women .do very foolish things. You have read my 
petition, no doubt, monsieur; you know the principal facts 
on which I rely to procure a commission in lunacy with regard 
to M. d’Espard ?”’ 

** Have you ever applied to him, madame, to obtain the care 
of your children ? ”’ 

** Yes, monsieur; but in vain. It is very hard on a mother 
to be deprived of the affection of her children, particularly 
when they can give her such happiness as every woman 
clings to.”’ 

‘« The elder must be sixteen,’’ said Popinot. 

“* Fifteen,’’ said the Marquise eagerly. 


328 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


Here Bianchon and Rastignac looked at each other. 
Madame d’Espard bit her lips. 

‘‘ What can the age of my children matter to you?”’ 

‘‘Well, madame,”’ said the lawyer, without seeming to 
attach any importance to his words, ‘‘a lad of fifteen and his 
brother, of thirteen, I suppose, have legs and their wits about 
them ; they might come to see you onthe sly. If they donot, 
it is because they obey their father, and to obey him in that 
matter they must love him very dearly.’’ 

“I do not understand,’’ said the Marquise 

“You do not know, perhaps,’’ replied Popinot, ‘that in 
your petition your attorney represents your children as being 
very unhappy with their father?’’ 

Madame d’Espard replied with charming innocence— 

‘“‘T do not know what my attorney may have put into my 
mouth.’’ 

‘« Forgive my inferences,’’ said Popinot, ‘‘ but justice weighs 
everything. What I ask you, madame, is suggested by my 
wish thoroughly to understand the matter. By your account 
M. d’Espard deserted you on the most frivolous pretext. In- 
stead of going to Briangon, where he wished to take you, he 
remained in Paris. This point is not clear. Did he know 
this Madame Jeanrenaud before his marriage ?”’ 

‘‘No, monsieur,”’ replied the Marquise, with some asperity, 
visible only to Rastignac and the Chevalier d’Espard. 

She was offended at being cross-questioned by this lawyer 
when she had intended to beguile his judgment; but as Pop- 
inot still looked stupid from sheer absence of mind, she 
ended by attributing his interrogatory to the questioning spirit 
of Voltaire’s bailiff. 

‘‘ My parents,’”’ she went on, ‘‘ married me at the age of 
sixteen to M. d’Espard, whose name, fortune, and mode of 
life were such as my family looked for in the man who was 
to be my husband. M. d’Espard was then six-and-twenty 3 
he was a gentleman in the English sense of the word ; his 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 329 


manners pleased me, he seemed to have plenty of ambition, 
and I like ambitious people,’’ she added, looking at Rastignac. 
“‘Tf M. d’Espard had never met that Madame Jeanrenaud, 
his character, his learning, his acquirements would have raised 
him—as his friends then believed—to high office in the gov- 
ernment. King Charles X., at that time, monsieur, had the 
greatest esteem for him, and a peer’s seat, an appointment at 
Court, some important post certainly would have been his. 
That woman turned his head, and has ruined all the prospects 
of my family.”’ 

‘‘What were M. d’Espard’s religious opinions at that 
time?”’ 

‘« He was, and is still, a very pious man.”’ 

‘*You do not suppose that Madame Jeanrenaud may have 
influenced him by mysticism ?”’ 

‘“< No, monsieur.’’ 

‘‘You have a very fine house, madame,’’ said Popinot sud- 
denly, taking his hands out of his pockets, and rising to pick 
up his coat-tails and warm himself. ‘‘ This boudoir is very 
nice, those chairs are magnificent, the whole apartment is 
sumptuous. You must indeed be most unhappy when, seeing 
yourself here, you know that your children are ill lodged, ill 
clothed, and ill fed. I can imagine nothing more terrible for 
a mother.”’ 

‘‘Yes, indeed. I should be so glad to give the poor little 
fellows some amusement, while their father keeps them at 
work from morning till night at that wretched history of 
China.’’ 

**You give handsome balls; they would enjoy them, but 
they might acquire a taste for dissipation. However, their 
father might send them to you once or twice in the course of 
the winter.”’ 

‘He brings them here on my birthday and on New Year’s 
Day. On those days M. d’Espard does me the favor of 
dining here with them.”’ 


330 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


‘It is very singular behavior,’’ said the judge, with an air of 
conviction. ‘* Have you ever seen this Dame Jeanrenaud ?”’ 

‘© Yes. My brother-in-law one day, out of interest in his 
brother P 

‘‘Ah! monsieur is M. d’Espard’s brother?’’ said the 
lawyer, interrupting her. 

The Chevalier bowed, but did not speak. 

‘¢M. d’Espard, who has watched this affair, took me to the 
Oratoire, where this woman goes to sermon, for she is a 
Protestant. I saw her; she is not in the least attractive; she 
looks like a butcher’s wife, extremely fat, horribly marked 
with the smallpox ; she has feet and hands like a man’s, she 
squints ; in short, she is monstrous !”’ 

‘It is inconceivable,’’ said the judge, looking like the most 
imbecile judge in the whole kingdom. ‘‘ And this creature 
lives here, Rue Verte, in a fine house? There are no plain 
folks left, it would seem ? ”’ 

‘¢TIn a mansion on which her son has spent absurd sums.”’ 

‘‘Madame,”’ said Popinot, ‘‘I live in the Faubourg Saint- 
Marceau ; I know nothing of such expenses. What do you 
call absurd sums ?’”’ 

‘¢ Well,’’ said the Marquise, ‘‘a stable with five horses and 
three carriages, a phaeton, a brougham, and a cabriolet.”’ 

«That costs a large sum, then? ’’ asked Popinot in surprise. 

‘¢ Enormous sums!’’ said Rastignac, intervening. ‘Such 
an establishment would cost, for the stables, the keeping the 
carriages in order, and the liveries for the men, between 
fifteen and sixteen thousand francs a year.’’ 

‘‘Should you think so, madame? ”’ said the judge, looking 
much astonished. 

«Ves, at least,’’ replied the Marquise. 

«« And the furniture, too, must have cost a lot of money?” 

‘¢ More than a hundred thousand francs,’’ replied Madame 
d’Espard, who could not help smiling at the lawyer’s vulgarity. 

‘‘ Judges, madame, are apt to be incredulous; it is what 





THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 331 


they are paid for, and I am incredulous. The Baron Jean- 
renaud and his mother must have fleeced M. d’Espard most 
preposterously, if what you say is correct. There is a stable 
establishment which, by your account, costs sixteen thousand 
francs a year. Housekeeping, servants’ wages, and the gross 
expenses of the house itself must run to twice as much ; that 
makes a total of from fifty to sixty thousand francs a year. 
Do you suppose that these people, formerly so extremely poor, 
can have so large a fortune? A million yields scarcely forty 
thousand a year.”’ 

“‘Monsieur, the mother and son invested the money given 
them by M. d’Espard in the funds when they were at 60 to 80. 
I should think their income must be more than sixty thousand 
francs. And then the son has fine appointments.’’ 

‘Tf they spend sixty thousand francs a year,’”’ said the 
judge, ‘‘ how much do you spend ?”’ 

<‘Well,’’ said Madame d’Espard, ‘‘ about the same.’’ The 
Chevalier started a little, the Marquise colored; Bianchon 
looked at Rastignac ; but Popinot preserved an expression of 
simplicity which quite deceived Madame d’Espard. The 
Chevalier took no part in the conversation ; he saw that all 
was lost. 

‘‘These people, madame, might be indicted before the 
Superior Court,’’ said Popinot. 

‘That was my opinion,’” exclaimed the Marquise, en- 
chanted. ‘‘If threatened with the police, they would have 
come to terms.”’ 

‘¢Madame,’’ said Popinot, ‘‘ when M. d’Espard left you, 
did he not give you a power of attorney enabling you to 
manage and control your own affairs? ”’ 

‘¢T do not understand the object of all these questions,”’ 
said the Marquise with petulance.. ‘‘It seems to me that if 
you would only consider the state in which I am placed by 
my husband’s insanity, you ought to be troubling yourself 
about him, and not about me.”’ 


332 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


‘“We are coming to that, madame,’ said the judge. 
‘‘ Before placing in your hands, or in any others, the control 
of M. d’Espard’s property, supposing he were pronounced 
incapable, the court must inquire as to how you have managed 
your own. If M. d’Espard gave you power, he would have 
shown confidence in you, and the court would recognize the 
fact. Had you any power from him? You might have 
bought or sold house property or invested money in busi- 
ness ?”’ 

‘¢ No, monsieur, the Blamont-Chauvrys are not in the 
habit of trading,’’ said she, extremely nettled in her pride as 
an aristocrat, and forgetting the business in hand. ‘‘ My 
property is intact, and M. d’Espard gave me no power to act.”’ 

The Chevalier put his hand over his eyes not to betray the 
vexation he felt at his sister-in-law’s shortsightedness, for she 
was ruining herself by her answers. Popinot had gone 
straight to the mark in spite of his apparent doublings. Those 
present, closely watching the examination, saw her evident 
discomfiture. 

‘‘Madame,”’ said the lawyer, indicating the Chevalier, 
‘this gentleman, of course, is your near connection? May 
we speak openly before these other gentlemen ?”’ 

‘« Speak on,’’ said the Marquise, surprised at this caution. 

‘Well, madame, granting that you spend only sixty thou- 
sand francs a year, to any one who sees your stables, your 
house, your train of servants, and a style of housekeeping 
which strikes me as far more luxurious than that of the 
Jeanrenauds, that sum would seem well laid out.’’ 

The Marquise bowed an agreement. 

“‘ But,’’ continued the judge, ‘‘ if you have no more than 
twenty-six thousand francs a year, you may have a hundred 
thousand francs of debts. The court would therefore have a 
right to imagine that the motives which prompt you to ask 
that your husband may be deprived of the control of his prop- 
erty are complicated by self-interest and the need for paying 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 333 


your debts—if—you—have—any. The requests addressed to 
me have interested me in your position ; consider fully and 
make your confession. If my suppositions have hit the truth, 
there is yet time to avoid the blame which the court would 
have a perfect right to express in the saving clauses of the 
verdict if you could not show your attitude to be absolutely 
honorable and clear. 

«Tt is our duty to examine the motives of the applicant 
as well as to listen to the plea of the witness under examina- 
tion, to ascertain whether the petitioner may not have been 
prompted by passion, by a desire for money, which is unfor- 
tunately too common a 

The Marquise was on Saint Laurence’s gridiron. 

«¢ And I must have explanations on this point. Madame, I 
have no wish to call you to account ; I only want to know how 
you have managed to live at the rate of sixty thousand francs 
a year, and that for some years past. There are plenty of 
women who achieve this in their housekeeping, but you are 
not one of those. Tell me, you may have the most legitimate 
resources, a royal pension, or some claim on the indemnities 
lately granted ; but even then you must have had your hus- 
band’s authority to receive them.”’ 

The Marquise did not speak. 

«© You must remember,’’ Popinot went on, ‘‘ that M. d’Es- 
pard may wish to enter a protest, and his counsel will have a 
right to find out whether you have any creditors. This 
boudoir is newly furnished, your rooms are not now furnished 
with the things left to you by M. d’Espard in 1816. If, as 
you did me the honor of informing me, furniture is costly for 
the Jeanrenauds, it must be yet more so for you, who are a 
great lady. Though I am a judge, I am but a man ; I may be 
wrong—tell me so. Remember the duties imposed on me by 
the law, and the rigorous inquiries it demands, when the case 
before it is the suspension from all his functions of the father 
of a family in the prime of life. So you will pardon me, 





334 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


Madame la Marquise, for laying all these difficulties before 
you ; it will be easy for you to give me an explanation. 

‘* When a man is pronounced incapable of the control of 
his own affairs, a trustee has to be appointed. Who will be 
the trustee ?’”’ 

‘His brother,’’ said the Marquise. 

The Chevalier bowed. There was a short silence, very un- 
comfortable for the five persons who were present. The judge, 
in sport as it were, had laid open the woman’s sore place. 
Popinot’s countenance of common, clumsy good-nature, at 
which the Marquise, the Chevalier, and Rastignac had been 
inclined to laugh, had gained importance in their eyes. As 
they stole a look at him, they discerned the various expressions 
of that eloquent mouth. ‘The ridiculous mortal was a judge 
of acumen. His studious notice of the boudoir was accounted 
for; he had started from the gilt elephant supporting the 
chimney-clock, examining all this luxury, and had ended by 
reading this woman’s soul. 

‘© If the Marquis d’Espard is mad about China, I see that 
you are not less fond of its products,’’ said Popinot, looking 
at the porcelain on the chimney-piece. ‘‘ But perhaps it was 
from M. le Marquis that you had these charming Oriental 
pieces,’’ and he pointed to some precious trifles. 

This irony, in very good taste, made Bianchon smile and 
petrified Rastignac, while the Marquise bit her thin lips. 

‘‘Instead of being the protector of a woman placed in a 
cruel dilemma—an alternative between losing her fortune and 
her children, and being regarded as her husband’s enemy,”’ 
she said, ‘*‘ you accuse me, monsieur! You suspect my mo- 
tives! You must own that your conduct is strange! ”’ 

“¢Madame,’’ said the judge eagerly, ‘‘ the caution exercised 
by the court in such cases as these might have given you, in 
any other judge, a perhaps less indulgent critic than I am. 
And do you suppose that M. d’Espard’s lawyer will show you 
any great consideration? Will he not be suspicious of mo- 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 339 


tives which may be perfectly pure and disinterested? Your 
life will be at his mercy; he will inquire into it without qual- 
ifying his search by the respectful deference I have for you.”’ 

<¢T am much obliged to you, monsieur,’’ said the Marquise 
satirically. ‘‘Admitting for the moment that I owe thirty 
thousand, or fifty thousand francs, in the first place, it would 
be a mere trifle to the d’Espards and the de Blamont-Chau- 
vrys. But if my husband is not in the possession of his 
mental faculties, would that prevent his being pronounced 
incapable ?’”’ 

‘¢ No, madame,’’ said Popinot. 

«¢ Although you have questioned me with a sort of cunning 
which I should not have expected in a judge, and under cir- 
cumstances where straightforwardness would have answered 
your purpose,’’ she went on, ‘‘I will tell you without subter- 
fuge that my position in the world, and the efforts I have to 
make to keep up my connection, are not in the least to my 
taste. I began my life by a long period of solitude ; but my 
children’s interest appealed to me; I felt that I must fill their 
father’s place. By receiving my friends, by keeping up all 
this connection, by contracting these debts, I have secured 
their future welfare ; I have prepared for them a brilliant ca- 
reer where they will find help and favor; and to have what 
has thus been acquired, many a man of business, lawyer or 
banker, would gladly pay all it has cost me.”’ 

“‘T appreciate your devoted conduct, madame,’’ replied 
Popinot. ‘‘ It does you honor, and I blame you for nothing. 
A judge belongs to all: he must know and weigh every fact.”’ 

Madame d’Espard’s tact and practice in estimating men 
made her understand that M. Popinot was not to be influenced 
by any consideration. She had counted on an ambitious 
lawyer, she had found a man of conscience. She at once 
thought of finding other means for securing the success of 
her side. 

The servants brought in tea. 


’ 


, 


336 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


‘Have you any further explanations to give me, madame?’’ 
said Popinot, seeing these preparations. 

‘*Monsieur,’’ she replied haughtily, ‘‘do your business 
your own way; question M. d’Espard, and you will pity me, 
Iam sure.’? She raised her head, looking Popinot in the 
face with pride, mingled with impertinence ; the worthy man 
bowed himself out respectfully. 

‘A nice man is your uncle,’’ said Rastignac to Bianchon. 
‘Is he really so dense? Does he not know what the Mar- 
quise d’Espard is, what her influence means, her unavowed 
power over people? The Keeper of the Seals will be with 
her to-morrow sh 

<¢ My dear fellow, how can I help it?’’ said Bianchon. 
‘*Did I not warn you? He is not a man you can get over.”’ 

‘‘No,’’ said Rastignac; ‘‘ he is a man you must run over.”’ 

The doctor was obliged to make his bow to the Marquise 
and her mute Chevalier to catch up with Popinot, who, not 
being the man to endure an embarrassing position, was pacing 
through the rooms. 

‘¢ That woman owes a hundred thousand crowns,’’ said the 
judge, as he stepped into his nephew’s cab. 

‘And what do you think of the case?’’ asked Bianchon 
as he followed his uncle into the cab. 

‘¢T,’’ said the judge. ‘‘ I never have an opinion till I have 
gone into everything. To-morrow early I will send to Ma- 
dame Jeanrenaud to call on me in my private office at four 
o’clock, to make her explain the facts which concern her, for 
she is compromised.”’ 

‘‘T should very much like to know what the end will 
be.”’ 

‘‘Why, bless me, do you not see that the Marquise is the 
tool of that tall lean man who never uttered a word? ‘There 
is a strain of Cain in him, but of the Cain who goes to the 
law courts for his bludgeon, and there, unluckily for him, we 
keep more than one Damocles’ sword. 





THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 337 


‘Oh, Rastignac! what brought you into that boat, I 
wonder ?’’ exclaimed Bianchon. 

‘‘Ah, we are used to seeing these little family conspir- 
acies,’’ said Popinot. ‘‘ Not a year passes without a number 
of verdicts of ‘insufficient evidence’ against applications of 
this kind. In our state of society such an attempt brings no 
dishonor, while we send a poor devil to the galleys if he 
breaks a pane of glass dividing him from a bowl full of gold. 
Our Code is not faultless.”’ 

‘¢ But these are the facts ?’”’ 

“* My boy, do you not know all the judicial romances with 
which clients impose on their attorneys? If the attorneys 
condemned themselves to state nothing but the truth, they 
would not earn enough to keep their office open.’’ 


Next day, at four in the afternoon, a very stout dame, look- 
ing a good deal like a cask dressed up in a gown and belt, 
mounted Judge Popinot’s stairs, perspiring and panting. She 
had, with great difficulty, got out of a green landau, which 
suited her to a miracle; you could not think of the woman 
without the landau, or the landau without the woman. 

**Tt is I, my dear sir,’’ said she, appearing in the doorway 
of the judge’s room. ‘‘ Madame Jeanrenaud, whom you 
summoned exactly as if I were a thief, neither more nor less.’’ 

The common words were spoken in a common voice, broken 
by the wheezing of asthma, and ending in a cough. 

‘*When I go through a damp place, I can’t tell you what I 
suffer, sir. I shall never make old bones, saving your pres- 
ence. However, here I am.”’ 

The lawyer was quite amazed at the appearance of this sup- 
posed Maréchale d’Ancre. Madame Jeanrenaud’s face was 
pitted with an infinite number of little holes, was very red, 
with a pug nose and a low forehead, and was as round as a 
ball ; for everything about the good woman was round. She 


had the bright eyes of a countrywoman, an honest gaze, a 
22 


338 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


cheerful tone, and chestnut hair held in place by a bonnet cap 
under a green bonnet decked with a shabby bunch of auric- 
ulas. Her stupendous bust was a thing to laugh at, for it 
made one fear some grotesque explosion every time she 
coughed. Her enormous legs were of the shape which make 
the Paris street boy describe such a woman as being built on 
piles. The widow wore a green gown trimmed with chin- 
chilla, which looked on her asa splash of dirty oil would look 
on a bride’s veil. In short, everything about her harmonized 
with her last words: ‘‘ Here I am.”’ 

‘¢ Madame,”’ said Popinot, ‘‘ you are suspected of having 
used some seductive arts to induce M. d’Espard to hand over 
to you very considerable sums of money.”’ 

“©Of what! of what!’’ cried she. ‘‘Of seductive arts? 
But, my dear sir, you are a man to be respected, and, more- 
over, as a lawyer you ought to have some good sense. Look 
at me! Tell me if I am likely to seduce any one. I cannot 
tie my own shoes, nor even stoop. For these twenty years 
past, the Lord be praised, I have not dared to put on a pair 
of stays under pain of sudden death. I was as thin as an 
asparagus stalk when I was seventeen, and pretty too—I may 
say so now. So I married Jeanrenaud, a good fellow, and 
head man on the salt-barges. I had my boy, who is a fine 
young man; he is my pride, and it is not holding myself 
cheap to say he is my best piece of work. My little Jeanre- 
naud was a soldier who did Napoleon credit, and who served 
in the Imperial Guard. But, alas! at the death of my old 
man, who was drowned, times changed for the worse. I had 
the smallpox. I was kept two years in my room without stir- 
ring, and I came out of it the size you see me, hideous for 
ever, and as wretched as could be. ,These are my seductive 
atisses 

‘‘But what, then, can the reasons be that have induced M. 
d’Espard to give you sums ria 

‘‘ Hugious sums, monsieur, say the word; I do not mind. 





THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 339 


But as to his reasons, Iam not at liberty to explain them,”’ 
said she with marked determination. 

‘““You are wrong. At this moment, his family, very 
naturally alarmed, are about to bring an action i 

‘¢ Heavens above us!’’ said the good woman, starting up. 
“‘Ts it possible that he should be worried on my account ? 
That king of men, a man that has not his match! Rather 
than he should have the smallest trouble, or a hair less on his 
head I could almost say, we would return every sou, monsieur. 
Write that down on your papers. Heaven above us! I will 
go at once and tell Jeanrenaud what is going on! A pretty 
thing indeed !”’ 

And the little old woman went out, rolled herself down- 
stairs, and disappeared. 

“¢ That one tells no lies,’’ said Popinot to himself. ‘‘ Well, 
to-morrow I shall know the whole story, for I shall go to see 
the Marquis d’ Espard. 

People who have outlived the age when a man wastes his 
vitality at random know how great an influence may be exer- 
cised on more important events by apparently trivial incidents, 
and will not be surprised at the weight here given to the fol- 
lowing minor fact. Next day Popinot had an attack of 
coryza, a complaint which is not dangerous, and generally 
known by the absurd and inadequate name of a cold in the 
head. 

The judge, who could not suppose that the delay could be 
serious, feeling himself a little feverish, kept his room, and 
did not go.to see the Marquis d’Espard. ‘This day lost was, 
to this affair, what on the Day of Dupes the cup of soup had 
been, taken by Marie de Medici, which, by delaying her 
meeting with Louis XIII., enabled Richelieu to arrive at 
Saint-Germain, the point of destination, before her, and re- 
capture his royal slave. 

Before accompanying the lawyer and his registering clerk to 
the Marquis d’Espard’s house, it may be as well to glance at 





340 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


the home and the private affairs of this father of sons whom 
his wife’s petition represented to be a madman. 

Here and there in the old parts of Paris a few buildings 
may still be seen in which the archeologist can discern an 
intention of decorating the city, and that love of property 
which leads the owner to give a durable character to the 
structure. The house in which M. d’Espard was then living, 
in the Rue de la Montagne-Sainte-Geneviéve, was one of these 
old mansions, built in stone, and not devoid of a certain 
richness of style; but time had blackened the stone, and 
revolutions in the town had damaged it both outside and 
inside. The dignitaries who formerly dwelt in the neighbor- 
hood of the University having disappeared with the great 
ecclesiastical foundations, this house had become the home of 
industries and of inhabitants whom it was never destined to 
shelter. During the last century a printing establishment had 
worn down the polished floors, soiled the carved wood, black- 
ened the walls, and altered the principal internal arrangements. 
Formerly the residence of a cardinal, this fine house was now 
divided among plebeian tenants. The character of the archi- 
tecture showed that it had been built under the reigns of 
Henry III., Henry IV., and Louis XIII., at the time when 
the hotels Mignon and Serpente were erected in the same 
neighborhood, with the palace of the Princess Palatine, and 
the Sorbonne. An old man could remember having heard it 
called, in the last century, the hotel Duperron, so it seemed 
probable that the illustrious cardinal of that name had built, 
or perhaps merely lived in it. 

There still exists, indeed, in the corner of the courtyard a 
perron or flight of several outer steps by which the house is en- 
tered ; and the way into the garden on the garden front is down 
a similar flight of steps. In spite of dilapidations, the luxury 
lavished by the architect on the balustrade and entrance porch 
crowning these two ferrons suggests the simple-minded pur- 
pose of commemorating the owner’s name, a sort of sculp- 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 341 


tured pun which our ancestors often allowed themselves. 
Finally, in support of this evidence, archzologists can still 
discern in the medallions which show on the principal front 
some traces of the cords of the Roman hat. 

M. le Marquis d’Espard lived on the ground floor, in order, 
no doubt, to enjoy the garden, which might be called spa- 
cious for that neighborhood, and which lay open to the south, 
two advantages imperatively necessary for his children’s health. 
The situation of the house, in a street on a steep hill, as its 
name indicates, secured these ground-floor rooms against ever 
being damp. M. d’Espard had taken them, no doubt, fora 
very moderate price, rents being low at the time when he 
settled in that quarter, in order to be among the schools and 
to superintend his boys’ education. Moreover, the state in 
which he found the place, with everything to repair, had no 
doubt induced the owner to be accommodating. Thus M. 
d’Espard had been able to go to some expense to settle him- 
self suitably without being accused of extravagance. The 
loftiness of the rooms, the paneling, of which nothing sur- 
vived but the frames, the decoration of the ceilings, all dis- 
played the dignity which the prelacy stamped on whatever it 
attempted or created, and which artists discern to this day in 
the smallest relic that remains, though it be but a book, a 
dress, the panel of a bookcase, or an armchair. 

The Marquis had the rooms painted in the rich brown tones 
beloved of the Dutch and of the citizens of Old Paris, hues 
which lend such good effects to the painter of genre. The 
panels were hung with plain paper in harmony with the paint. 
The window curtains were of inexpensive materials, but chosen 
so as to produce a generally happy result ; the furniture was not 
too crowded and judiciously placed. Any one going into 
this home could not resist a sense of sweet peacefulness, pro- 
duced by the perfect calm, the stillness which prevailed, by 
the unpretentious unity of color, the keeping of the picture, 
in the words a painter might use. A certain nobleness in the 


342 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


details, the exquisite cleanliness of the furniture, and a perfect 
concord of men and things, all brought the word “ suavity’”’ 
to the lips. 

Few persons were admitted to the rooms used by the Marquis 
and his two sons, whose life might perhaps seem mysterious 
to their neighbors. In a wing towards the street, on the third 
floor, there are three large rooms which had been left in a 
state of dilapidation and grotesque bareness to which they 
had been reduced by the printing works. These three rooms, 
devoted to the evolution of the ‘‘ Picturesque History of 
China,’’ were contrived to serve as a writing-room, a deposi- 
tory, and a private room, where M. d’Espard sat during part 
of the day ; for, after breakfast till four in the afternoon, the 
Marquis remained in this room on the third floor to work at 
the publication he had undertaken. Visitors wanting to see 
him commonly found him there, and often the two boys on 
their return from school resorted thither. Thus the ground- 
floor rooms were a sort of sanctuary where the father and sons 
spent their time from the hour of dinner till the next day, 
and his domestic life was carefully closed against the public eye. 

His only servants were a cook—an old woman who had 
long been attached to his family—and a manservant forty 
years old, who was with him when he married Mademoiselle 
de Blamont. His children’s nurse had also remained with 
them, and the minute care to which the apartment bore wit- 
ness revealed the sense of order and the maternal affection 
expended by this woman in her master’s interest, in the man- 
agement of his house, and the charge of his children. ‘These 
three good souls, grave and uncommunicative folks, seemed 
to have entered into the idea which ruled the Marquis’ domes- 
tic life. And the contrast between their habits and those 
of most servants was a peculiarity which cast an air of 
mystery over the house, and fomented the calumny to which 
M. d’Espard himself lent occasion. Very laudable motives 
had made him determine never to be on visiting terms with 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 343 


any of the other tenants in the house. In undertaking to 
educate his boys he wished to keep them from all contact with 
strangers. Perhaps, too, he wished to avoid the intrusion of 
neighbors. 

In a man of his rank, at a time when the Quartier Latin 
was distracted by Liberalism, such conduct was sure to rouse 
in opposition a host of petty passions, of feelings whose folly 
is only to be measured by their meanness, the outcome of 
porters’ gossip and malevolent tattle from door to door, all 
unknown to M. d’Espard and his retainers, His manservant 
was stigmatized asa Jesuit, his cook asa sly fox; the nurse 
was in collusion with Madame Jeanrenaud to rob the madman. 
The madman was the Marquis. By degrees the other tenants 
came to regard as proofs of madness a number of things they 
had noticed in M. d’Espard, and passed through the sieve of 
their judgment without discerning any reasonable motive for 
them. 

Having no belief in the success of ‘‘ the History of China,”’ 
they had managed to convince the landlord of the house that 
M. d’Espard had no money just at a time when, with the for- 
getfulness which often befalls busy men, he had allowed the 
tax-collector to send him a summons for non-payment of 
arrears. The landlord had forthwith claimed his quarter’s 
rent from January 1st by sending in a receipt, which the 
porter’s wife had amused herself by detaining. On the 15th 
a summons to pay was served on M. d’Espard, the portress 
had delivered it at her leisure, and he supposed it to be some 
misunderstanding, not conceiving of any incivility from a man 
in whose house he had been living for twelve years. The 
Marquis was actually seized by a bailiff at the time when his 
manservant had gone to carry the money for the rent to the 
landlord. 

This arrest, insidiously reported to the persons with whom 
he was in treaty for his undertaking, had alarmed some of 
them who were already doubtful of M. d’Espard’s solvency in 


344 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


consequence of the enormous sums which Baron Jeanrenaud 
and his mother were said to be receiving from him. And, 
indeed, these suspicions on the part of the tenants, the cred- 
itors, and the landlord had some excuse in the Marquis’ 
extreme economy in housekeeping. He conducted it as a 
ruined man might. His servants always paid in ready money 
for the most trifling necessaries of life, and acted as not 
choosing to take credit; if now they had asked for anything 
on credit, it would probably have been refused, calumnious 
gossip had been so widely believed in the neighborhood. 
There are tradesmen who like those of their customers who 
pay badly when they see them often, while they hate others, 
and very good ones, who hold themselves on too high a level 
to allow of any familiarity as chums, a vulgar but expressive 
word. Men are made so; in almost every class they will 
allow to a gossip, or a vulgar soul that flatters them, facilities 
and favors they refuse to the superiority they resent, in what- 
ever form it may show itself. The shopkeeper who rails at 
the court has his courtiers. 

In short, the manners of the Marquis and his children were 
certain to arouse ill-feeling in their neighbors, and to work 
them up by degrees to the pitch of malevolence when men do 
not hesitate at an act of meanness if only it may damage the 
adversary they have themselves created. 

M. d’Espard was a gentleman, as his wife was a lady, by 
birth and breeding; noble types, already so rare in France 
that the observer can easily count the persons who perfectly 
realize them. These two characters are based on primitive 
ideas, on beliefs that may be called innate, on habits formed 
in infancy, and which have ceased to exist. To believe in 
pure blood, in a privileged race, to stand in thought above 
other men, must we not from birth have measured the distance 
which divides patricians from the mob? ‘To command, must 
we not have never met our equal? And, finally, must not 
education inculcate the ideas with which nature inspires those 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 345 


great men on whose brow she has placed a crown before their 
mother has ever set a kiss there? These ideas, this education, 
are no longer possible in France, where for forty years past 
chance has arrogated the right of making noblemen by dip- 
ping them in the blood of battles, by gilding them with glory, 
by crowning them with the halo of genius; where the aboli- 
tion of entail and of eldest sonship, by frittering away estates, 
compels the nobleman to attend to his own business instead 
of attending to affairs of state, and where personal greatness 
can only be such greatness as is acquired by long and patient 
toil; quite a new era. 

Regarded as a relic of that great institution known as feu- 
dalism, M. d’Espard deserved respectful admiration. If he 
believed himself to be by blood the superior of other men, he 
also believed in all the obligations of nobility ; he had the 
virtues and the strength it demands. He had brought up his 
children in his own principles, and taught them from the 
cradle the religion of their caste. A deep sense of their own 
dignity, pride of name, the conviction that they were by birth 
great, gave rise in them to a kingly pride, the courage of 
knights, and the protecting kindness of a baronial lord ; their 
manners, harmonizing with their notions, would have become 
princes, and offended all the world of the Rue de la Mon- 
tagne-Sainte-Geneviéve—a world, above all others, of equality, 
where every one believed that M. d’Espard was ruined, and 
where all, from the lowest to the highest, refused the privi- 
leges of nobility to a nobleman without money, because they 
all were ready to allow an enriched bourgeois to usurp them. 
Thus the lack of communion between this family and other 
persons was as much moral as it was physical. 

In the father and the children alike, their personality har- 
monized with the spirit within. M. d’Espard, at this time 
about fifty, might have sat as a model to represent the aristoc- 
racy of birth in the nineteenth century. He was slight and 
fair; there was in the outline and general expression of his 


346 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


face a native distinction which spoke of lofty sentiments, but 
it bore the impress of a deliberate coldness which commanded 
respect a little too decidedly. His aquiline nose bent at the 
tip from left to right, a slight crookedness which was not 
devoid of grace; his blue eyes, his high forehead, prominent 
enough at the brows to form a thick ridge that checked the 
light and shaded his eyes, all indicated a spirit of rectitude 
capable of perseverance and perfect loyalty, while it gave a 
singular look to his countenance. This pent-house forehead 
might, in fact, hint at a touch of madness, and his thick- 
knitted eyebrows added to the apparent eccentricity. He had 
the white well-kept hands of a gentleman; his foot was high 
and narrow. His hesitating speech—not merely as to his 
pronunciation, which was that of a stammerer, but also in the 
expression of his ideas, his thought, and language—produced 
on the mind of the hearer the impression of a man who, in 
familiar phraseology, comes and goes, feels his way, tries 
everything, breaks off his gestures, and finishes nothing. 
This defect was purely superficial, and in contrast with the 
decisiveness of a firmly-set mouth, and the strongly-marked 
character of his physiognomy. Hisrather jerky gait matched 
his mode of speech. These peculiarities helped to affirm his 
supposed insanity. In spite of his elegant appearance, he 
was systematically parsimonious in his personal expenses, and 
wore the same black frockcoat for three or four years, brushed 
with extreme care by his old manservant. 

As to the children, they both were handsome, and endowed 
with a grace which did not exclude an expression of aristo- 
cratic disdain. They had the bright coloring, the clear eye, 
the transparent flesh which reveal habits of purity, regularity 
of life, and a due proportion of work and play. They both 
had black hair and blue eyes, and a twist in their nose, like 
their father ; but their mother, perhaps, had transmitted to 
them the dignity of speech, of look and mien, which are 
hereditary in the Blamont-Chauvrys. Their voices, as clear 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 347 


as crystal, had an emotional quality, the softness which proves 
so seductive; they had, in short, the voice a woman would 
willingly listen to after feeling the flame of their looks. But, 
above all, they had the modesty of pride, a chaste reserve, a 
touch-me-not which at a maturer age might have seemed inten- 
tional shyness, so much did their demeanor inspire a wish to 
know them. The elder, Comte Clément de Négrepelisse, was 
close upon his sixteenth year. For the last two years he had 
ceased to wear the pretty English round jacket which his 
brother, Vicomte Camille d’Espard, still wore. The Count, 
who for the last six months went no more to the College 
Henri IV., was dressed in the style of a young man enjoying 
the first pleasures of fashion. His father had not wished to 
condemn him to a year’s useless study of philosophy ; he was 
trying to give his knowledge some consistency by the study of 
transcendental mathematics. At the same time, the Marquis 
was having him taught Eastern languages, the international 
law of Europe, heraldry, and history from the original 
sources—charters, early documents, and collections of edicts. 
Camille had lately begun to study rhetoric. 

The day when Popinot arranged to go to question M. 
d’Espard was a Thursday, a holiday. At about nine in the 
morning, before their father was awake, the brothers were 
playing in the garden. Clément was finding it hard to refuse 
his brother, who was anxious to go to the shooting gallery for 
the first time, and who begged him to second his request to 
the Marquis. The Viscount always rather took advantage of 
his weakness, and was very fond of wrestling with his brother. 
So the couple were quarreling and fighting in play like 
schoolboys. As they ran in the garden, chasing each other, 
they made so much noise as to wake their father, who came to 
the window without their perceiving him in the heat of the 
fray. The Marquis amused himself with watching his two 
children twisted together like snakes, their faces flushed by 
the exertion of their strength; their complexion was rose and 


348 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


white, their eyes flashed sparks, their limbs writhed like cords 
in the fire ; they fell, sprang up again, and caught each other 
like athletes in a circus, affording their father one of those 
moments of happiness which would make amends for the 
keenest anxieties of a busy life. Two other persons, one on 
the second and one on the first floor, were also looking into 
the garden, and saying that the old madman was amusing 
himself by making his children fight. Immediately a number 
of heads appeared at the windows; the Marquis, noticing 
them, called to his sons, who at once climbed up to the 
window and jumped into his room, and Clément obtained the 
permission asked by Camille. 

All through the house every one was talking of the Mar- 
quis’ new form of insanity. When Popinot arrived at about 
twelve o’clock, accompanied by his clerk, the portress, when 
he asked for M. d’Espard, conducted him to the third floor, 
telling him ‘‘as how M. d’Espard, no longer ago than that 
very morning, had set on his two children to fight, and 
laughed like the monster he was on seeing the younger biting 
the elder till he bled, and as how no doubt he longed to see 
them kill each other. Don’t ask me the reason why,’’ she 
added ; ‘‘ he doesn’t know himself!’ 

Just as the woman spoke these decisive words, she had brought 
the judge to the landing on the third floor, face to face with 
a door covered with notices announcing the successive num- 
bers of ‘‘ The Picturesque History of China.’’ The muddy 
floor, the dirty banisters, the door where the printers had left 
their marks, the dilapidated window, and the ceiling on which 
the apprentices had amused themselves with drawing monstros- 
ities with the smoky flare of their tallow dips, the piles of 
paper and litter heaped up in the corners, intentionally or 
from sheer neglect—in short, every detail of the picture lying 
before his eyes—agreed so well with the facts alleged by the 
Marquise that the judge, in spite of his impartiality, could not 
help believing them. 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 349 


‘‘There you are, gentlemen,’’ said the porter’s wife ; 
“‘there is the malefactor, where the Chinese swallow up 
enough to feed the whole neighborhood.”’ 

The clerk looked at the judge with a smile, and Popinot 
found it hard to keep his countenance. They went together 
into the outer room, where sat an old man, who, no doubt, 
performed the functions of office clerk, shopman, and cashier. 
This old man was the Maitre Jacques of China. Along the 
walls ran long shelves, on which the published numbers lay in 
piles. A partition in wood, with a grating lined with green 
curtains, cut off the end of the room, forming a private office. 
A till with a slit to admit or disgorge crown-pieces indicated 
the cash-desk. 

‘«M. d’Espard ?’’ said Popinot, addressing the man, who 
wore a gray blouse. 

The shopman opened the door into the next room, where 
the lawyer and his companion saw a venerable old man, white- 
headed and simply dressed, wearing the Cross of Saint Louis, 
seated at a desk. He ceased comparing some sheets of 
colored prints to look up at the two visitors. This room was 
an unpretentious office, full of books and proof-sheets. There 
was a black wood table at which some one, at the moment 
absent, no doubt was accustomed to work. 

‘¢'The Marquis d’Espard ?’’ said Popinot. 

‘¢No, monsieur,’’ said the old man, rising; ‘‘ what do you 
want with him?’’ he added, coming forward, and showing by 
his demeanor the dignified manners and habits due to a 
gentlemanly education. 

‘¢ We wish to speak to him on business exclusively personal 
to himself,’’ replied Popinot. 

‘‘D’Espard, here are some gentlemen who want to see 
you,’’ then said the old man, going into the rear room, 
where the Marquis was sitting by the fire reading the news- 
paper. 

This innermost room had a shabby carpet, the windows 


350 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


were hung with gray Holland curtains; the furniture consisted 
of a few mahogany chairs, two armchairs, a desk with a 
revolving front, an ordinary office table, and, on the chim- 
ney-shelf, a dingy clock and two old candlesticks. The old 
man led the way for Popinot and his registrar, and pulled for- 
ward two chairs, as though he were master of the place; M. 
d’Espard left it to him. After the preliminary civilities, 
during which the judge watched the supposed lunatic, the 
Marquis naturally asked what was the object cf this visit. On 
this Popinot glanced significantly at the old gentleman and 
the Marquis. 

‘“*I believe, Monsieur le Marquis,’’ said he, ‘‘that the 
character of my functions and the inquiry that has brought 
me here make it desirable that we should be alone, though it 
is understood by law that in such cases the inquiries have a 
sort of family publicity. I am judge of the Inferior Court of 
Appeal for the Department of the Seine, and charged by the 
president with the duty of examining you as to certain facts 
set forth in a petition for a commission in lunacy on the part 
of the Marquise d’Espard. 

The old man withdrew, When the lawyer and the Marquis 
were alone, the clerk shut the door, and seated himself uncer- 
emoniously at the office table, where he laid out his papers 
and prepared to take down his notes. Popinot had still kept 
his eye on M. d’Espard; he was watching the effect on him 
of this crude statement, so painful for a man in full possession 
of his reason. The Marquis d’Espard, whose face was usually 
pale, as are those of fair men, suddenly turned scarlet with 
anger; he trembled for an instant, sat down, laid his’ paper 
on the chimney-piece, and looked down, In a moment he 
had recovered his gentlemanly dignity, and looked steadily 
at the judge, as if to read in his countenance the indications 
of his character, 

“‘ How is it, monsieur,’’ he asked, ‘‘that I have had no 
notice of such a petition ?”’ 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 351 


<¢ Monsieur le Marquis, persons on whom such a commission 
is held, not being supposed to have the use of their reason, 
any notice of the petition is unnecessary. The duty of the 
court chiefly consists in verifying the allegations of the peti- 
tioner.”’ 

‘¢ Nothing can be fairer,’’ replied the Marquis. ‘‘ Well, 
then, monsieur, be so good as to tell me what I ought to 
do i 

‘¢ You have only to answer my questions, omitting nothing. 
However delicate the reasons may be which may have led 
you to act in such a manner as to give Madame d’Espard a 
pretext for her petition, speak without fear. It is unnecessary 
to assure you that lawyers know their duties, and that in such 
cases the profoundest secrecy a 

“‘Monsieur,’’ said the Marquis, whose face expressed the 
sincerest pain, ‘‘if my explanations should lead to any blame 
being attached to Madame d’Espard’s conduct, what will be 
the result ?”’ 

‘¢The court may add its censure to its reasons for its 
decision.’’ 

“‘Ts such censure optional? If I were to stipulate with 
you, before replying, that nothing should be said that 
could annoy Madame d’Espard in the event of your report 
being in my favor, would the court take my request into con- 
sideration ?”’ ; 

The judge looked at the Marquis, and the two men ex- 
changed sentiments of equal magnanimity. 

‘¢Noél,’’ said Popinot to his registrar, “ go into the other 
room., If you can be of use, I will call youin. If, as 1am 
inclined to think,’’ he went on, speaking to the Marquis when 
the clerk had gone out, ‘‘I find that there is some misunder- 
standing in this case, I can promise you, monsieur, that on 
your application the court will act with due courtesy. 

“« There is a leading fact put forward by Madame d’Espard, 
the most serious of all, of which I must beg for an explana- 


’ 








352 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


tion,’’ said the judge after a pause. ‘‘It refers to the dissi- 
pation of your fortune to the advantage of a certain Madame 
Jeanrenaud, the widow of a bargemaster—or rather, to that 
of her son, Colonel Jeanrenaud, for whom you are said to 
have procured an appointment, to have exhausted your influ- 
ence with the King, and at last to have extended such pro- 
tection as secures him a good marriage. The petition suggests 
that such a friendship is more devoted than any feelings, even 
those which morality must disapprove ay 

A sudden flush crimsoned the Marquis’ face and forehead, 
tears even started to his eyes, for his eyelashes were wet, then 
wholesome pride crushed the emotions, which in a man are 
accounted a weakness. 

‘To tell you the truth, monsieur,’’ said the Marquis, in a 
broken voice, ‘‘you place me in a strange dilemma. The 
motives of my conduct were to have died with me. To reveal 
them I must disclose to you some secret wounds, must place 
the honor of my family in your keeping, and must speak of 
myself, a delicate matter, as you will fully understand. I 
hope, monsieur, that it will all remain a secret between us. 
You will, no doubt, be able to find in the formulas of the 
law one which will allow of judgment being pronounced 
without any betrayal of my confidences,”’ 

‘‘So far as that goes, it is perfectly possible, Monsieur le 
Marquis.”’ 

‘Some time after my marriage,’’ said M. d’Espard, ‘‘ my 
wife having run into considerable expenses, I was obliged to 
have recourse to borrowing. You know what was the position 
of noble families during the Revolution ; I had not been able 
to keep asteward ora man of business. Nowadays gentlemen 
are for the most part obliged to manage their affairs them- 
selves. Most of my title-deeds had been brought to Paris, 
from Languedoc, Provence, or le Comtat, by my father, who 
dreaded, and not without reason, the inquisition which family 
title-deeds, and what were then styled the ‘ parchments’ of the 





THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 303 


privileged class, brought down on the individnal owners of 
landed estates. 

«« Our name is Négrepelisse ; d’Espard is a title acquired in 
the time of Henry IV. by a marriage which brought us 
the estates and titles of the house of d’Espard, on condition 
of our bearing an escutcheon of pretence on our coat-of-arms, 
those of the house of d’Espard, an old family of Béarn, con- 
nected in the female line with that of Albret: quarterly, paly 
of or and sable; and azure two griffins’ claws armed, gules in 
saltire, with the famous motto Des partem leonis. At the time 
of this alliance we lost Négrepelisse, a little town which was 
as famous during the religious struggles as was my ancestor 
who then bore the name. Captain de Négrepelisse was ruined 
by the burning of all his property, for the Protestants did not 
spare a friend of Montluc’s. 

‘© The Crown was unjust to M. de Négrepelisse ; he received 
neither a marshal’s baton, nor a post as governor, nor any 
indemnity; King Charles IX., who was fond of him, died 
without being able to reward him; Henry IV. arranged his 
marriage with Mademoiselle d’Espard, and secured him the 
estates of that house, but all those of the Négrepelisses had 
already passed into the hands of his creditors. 

‘« My great-grandfather, the Marquis d’Espard, was, like 
me, placed early in life at the head of his family by the 
death of his father, who, after dissipating his wife’s fortune, 
left his son nothing but the entailed estates of the d’Espards, 
burdened with a jointure. The young Marquis was all the 
more straitened for money because he held a post at Court. 
Being in great favor with Louis XIV., the King’s good-will 
brought him a fortune. But here, monsieur, a blot stained 
our escutcheon, an unconfessed and horrible stain of blood 
and disgrace which I am making it my business to wipe out. 
I discovered the secret among the deeds relating to the estate 
of Négrepelisse and the packets of letters.’ 

At this solemn moment the Marquis spoke without hesita- 

23 


354 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


tion or any of the repetition habitual with him; but it is a 
matter of common observation that persons who, in ordinary 
life, are afflicted with these two defects, are freed from them 
as soon as any passionate emotion underlies their speech. 

<¢ The Revocation of the Edict of Nantes was decreed,’’ he 
went on. ‘‘ You are no doubt aware, monsieur, that this was 
an opportunity for many favorites to make their fortunes. 
Louis XIV. bestowed on the magnates about his Court the 
confiscated lands of those Protestant families who did not take 
the prescribed steps for the sale of their property. Some 
persons in high favor went ‘ Protestant-hunting,’ as the phrase 
was. I have ascertained beyond a doubt that the fortune 
enjoyed to this day by two ducal families is derived from 
lands seized from hapless merchants. 

‘< J will not attempt to explain to you, a man of law, all the 
manceuvres employed to entrap the refugees who had large 
fortunes to carry away. It is enough to say that the lands 
of Négrepelisse, comprising twenty-two churches and rights 
over the town, and those of Gravenges which had formerly 
belonged to us, were at that time in the hands of a Protestant 
family. My grandfather recovered them by gift from Louis 
XIV. This gift was effected by documents hall-marked by 
atrocious iniquity. The owner of these two estates, thinking 
he would be able to return, had gone through the form of a 
sale, and was going to Switzerland to join his family, whom 
he had sent inadvance. He wished, no doubt, to take advan- 
tage of every delay granted by the law, so as to settle the 
concerns of his business. 

«This man was arrested by order of the Governor, the 
trustee confessed the truth, the poor merchant was hanged, 
and my ancestor had the two estates. I would gladly have been 
able to ignore the share he took in the plot; but the Governor 
was his uncle on the mother’s side, and I have unfortunately 
read the letter in which he begged him to apply to Deodatus, 
the name agreed upon by the Court to designate the King. In 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 355 


this letter there is a tone of jocosity with reference to the 
victim, which filled me with horror. In the end, the sums of 
money sent by the refugee family to ransom the poor man’s 
life were kept by the Governor, who dispatched the merchant 
all the same.”’ 

The Marquis paused, as though the memory of it were still 
too heavy for him to bear. 

‘‘This unfortunate family were named Jeanrenaud,’’ he 
went on. ‘* The name is enough to account for my conduct. 
I could never think without keen pain of the secret disgrace 
that weighed on my family. That fortune enabled my grand- 
father to marry a demoiselle de Navarreins-Lansac, heiress to 
the younger branch of that house, who were at that time much 
richer than the elder branch of the Navarreins. My father 
thus became one of the largest landowners in the kingdom. 
He was able to marry my mother, a Grandlieu of the younger 
branch. Though ill-gotten, this property has been singularly 
profitable. 

“For my part, being determined to remedy the mischief, I 
wrote to Switzerland, and knew no peace till I was on the 
traces of the Protestant victim’s heirs. At last I discovered 
that the Jeanrenauds, reduced to abject want, had left Fribourg 
and returned to live in France. Finally, I found in M. Jean- 
renaud, lieutenant in a cavalry regiment under Napoleon, 
the sole heir of this unhappy family. In my eyes, monsieur, 
the rights of the Jeanrenauds were clear. To establish a 
prescriptive right is it not necessary that there should have 
been some possibility of proceeding against those who are in 
the enjoyment of it? To whom could these refugees have 
appealed? Their court of justice was on high, or rather, 
monsieur, it was here,’’ and the Marquis struck his hand on his 
heart. ‘I did not choose that my children should be able 
to think of me as I have thought of my father and of my 
ancestors. I aim at leaving them an unblemished inheritance 
and escutcheon. I did not choose that nobility should be a 


396 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


lie in my person. And, after all, politically speaking, ought 
those émigrés who are now appealing against revolutionary 
confiscations, to keep the property derived from antecedent 
confiscations by positive crimes ? 

‘*T found in M. Jeanrenaud and his mother the most per- 
verse honesty ; to hear them you would suppose that they were 
robbing me. In spite of all I could say, they will accept no 
more than the value of the lands at the time when the King 
bestowed them on my family. The price was settled between 
us at the sum of eleven hundred thousand francs, which I was 
to pay at my convenience and without interest. To achieve 
this I had to forego my income for along time. And then, 
monsieur, began the destruction of some illusions I had 
allowed myself as to Madame d’Espard’s character. When I 
proposed to her that we should leave Paris and go into the 
country, where we could live respected on half of her income, 
and so more rapidly complete a restitution of which I spoke to 
her without going into the more serious details, Madame 
d’Espard treated me as a madman. I then understood my 
wife’s real character. She would have approved of my 
grandfather’s conduct without a scruple, and have laughed 
at the Huguenots. Terrified by her coldness, and her little 
affection for her children, whom she abandoned to me without 
a regret, I determined to leave her the command of her for- 
tune, after paying our common debts. It was no business of 
hers, as she told me, to pay for my follies. As I then had not 
enough to live on and pay for my sons’ education, I deter- 
mined to educate them myself, to make them gentlemen and men 
of feeling. By investing my money in the funds I have been 
enabled to pay off my obligation sooner than I had dared to 
hope, for I took advantage of the opportunities afforded by 
the improvement in prices. If I had kept four thousand 
francs a year for my boys and myself, I could only have paid 
off twenty thousand crowns a year, and it would have taken 
almost eighteen years to achieve my freedom. As it is, I 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 357 


have lately repaid the whole of the eleven hundred thousand 
francs that were due. Thus I enjoy the happiness of having 
made this restitution without doing my children the smallest 
wrong. 

“«' These, monsieur, are the reasons for the payments made 
to Madame Jeanrenaud and her son.’’ 

‘So Madame d’Espard knew the motives of your retire- 
ment?’’ said the judge, controlling the emotion he felt at 
this narrative. 

‘¢ Yes, monsieur,”’ 

Popinot gave an expressive shrug ; he rose and opened the 
door into the next room. 

** Noél, you can go,’’ said he to his clerk. 

‘¢Monsieur,’”’ he went on, ‘‘ though what you have told me 
is enough to enlighten me thoroughly, I should like to hear 
what you have to say to the other facts put forward in the 
petition. For instance, you are here carrying on a business 
such as is not habitually undertaken by a man of rank.”’ 

‘<We cannot discuss that matter here,’’ said the Marquis, 
signing to the judge to quit the room. ‘* Nouvion,’’ said he 
to the old man, ‘‘I am going down to my rooms; the chil- 
dren will soon be in; dine with us.”’ 

«¢ Then, Monsieur le Marquis,’’ said Popinot on the stairs, 
‘that is not your apartment ! ”’ 

‘©No, monsieur; I took those rooms for the office of this 
undertaking. You see,’’ and he pointed to an advertisement 
sheet, ‘the ‘History’ is being brought out by one of the 
most respectable firms in Paris, and not by me.”’ 

The Marquis showed the lawyer into the ground-floor 
rooms, saying, ‘‘ This is my apartment.”’ 

Popinot was quite touched by the poetry, not aimed at but 
pervading this dwelling. The weather was lovely, the 
windows were open, the air from the garden brought in a 
wholesome earthy smell, the sunshine brightened and gilded 
the woodwork, of a rather gloomy brown. At the sight 


Pe) 


308 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


Popinot made up his mind that a madman would hardly be 
capable of inventing the tender harmony of which he was at 
that moment conscious. 

‘T should like just such an apartment,’’ thought he. ‘* You 
think of leaving this part of the town ?’”’ he inquired. 

“‘T hope so,’ replied the Marquis. ‘‘ But I shall remain 
till my younger son has finished his studies, and till the chil- 
dren’s character is thoroughly formed, before introducing 
them to the world and to their mother’s circle. Indeed, after 
giving them the solid information they possess, I intend to 
complete it by taking them to travel to the capitals of Europe, 
that they may see men and things, and become accustomed to 
speak the languages they have learned. And, monsieur,’’ he 
went on, giving the judge a chair in the drawing-room, ‘‘I 
could not discuss the book on China with you, in the presence 
of an old friend of my family, the Comte de Nouvion, who, 
having emigrated, has returned to France without any fortune 
whatever, and who is my partner in this concern, less for my 
profit than his. Without telling him what my motives were, 
I explained to him that I was as poor as he, but that I had 
enough money to start a speculation in which he might be 
usefully employed. My tutor was the Abbé Grozier, whom 
Charles X. on my recommendation appointed Keeper of the 
Books at the Arsenal, which were returned to that Prince 
when he was still monsieur. The Abbé Grozier was deeply 
learned with regard to China, its manners and customs; he 
made me heir to this knowledge at an age when it is difficult 
not to become a fanatic for the things we learn. At five-and- 
twenty I knew Chinese, and I confess I have never been able 
to check myself in an exclusive admiration for that nation, 
who conquered their conquerors, whose annals extend back 
indisputably to a period more remote than mythological or 
Biblical times, who by their immutable institutions have pre- 
served the integrity of their empire, whose monuments are 
gigantic, whose administration is perfect, among whom 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 359 


revolutions are impossible, who have regarded ideal beauty as 
a barren element in art, who have carried luxury and industry 
to such a pitch that we cannot outdo them in anything, while 
they are our equals in things where we believe ourselves 
superior. 

“¢ Still, monsieur, though I often make a jest of comparing 
China with the present condition of European states, I am 
not a Chinaman, I am a French gentleman. If you entertain 
any doubts as to the financial side of this undertaking, I can 
prove to you that at this moment we have two thousand five 
hundred subscribers to this work, which is literary, icono- 
graphical, statistical, and religious; its importance has been 
generally appreciated ; our subscribers belong to every nation 
in Europe, we have but twelve hundred in France. Our book 
will cost about three hundred francs, and the Comte de 
Nouvion will derive from it from six to seven thousand francs 
a year, for his comfort was the real motive of the undertaking. 
For my part, I aimed only at the possibility of affording my 
children some pleasures. The hundred thousand francs I have 
made, quite in spite of myself, will pay for their fencing 
lessons, horses, dress, and theatres, pay the masters who teach 
them accomplishments, procure them canvases to spoil, the 
books they may wish to buy, in short, all the little fancies 
which a father finds so much pleasure in gratifying. If I had 
been compelled to refuse these indulgences to my poor boys, 
who are so good and work so hard, the sacrifice I made to the 
honor of my name would have been doubly trying and more 
painful to me. 

‘‘In point of fact, the twelve years I have spent in retire- 
ment from the world to educate my children have led to my 
being completely forgotten at Court. I have given up the 
career of politics; I have lost my historical fortune, and all 
the distinctions which I might have acquired and bequeathed 
to my children; but our house will have lost nothing; my 
boys will be men of mark. Though I have missed the senator- 


560 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


ship, they will win it nobly by devoting themselves to the 
affairs of the country, and doing such service as is not soon 
forgotten. While purifying the past record of my family, I 
have insured it a glorious future; and is not that to have 
achieved a noble task, though in secret and without glory? 
And now, monsieur, have you any other explanations to ask 
of me?”’ 

At this instant the tramp of horses was heard in the court- 
yard. 

“‘ Here they are!’’ said the Marquis. In a moment the 
two lads, fashionably but plainly dressed, came into the room, 
booted, spurred, and gloved, and flourishing their riding- 
whips. Their beaming faces brought in the freshness of the 
outer air; they were brilliant with health. They both grasped 
their father’s hand, giving him a look, as friends do, a glance 
of unspoken affection, and then they bowed coldly to the 
lawyer. Popinot felt that it was quite unnecessary to question 
the Marquis as to his relations towards his sons. 

“« Have you enjoyed yourselves ?’’ asked the Marquis. 

‘© Ves, father; I knocked down six dolls in twelve shots at 
the first trial !’’ cried Camille. 

«And where did you ride? ”’ 

‘‘In the Bois; we saw our mother.”’ 

‘¢ Did she stop? ”’ 

‘© We were riding so fast just then that I daresay she did 
not see us,’’ replied the young Count. 

‘But, then, why did you not go to speak to her?”’ 

“«T fancy I have noticed, father, that she does not care that 
we should speak to her in public,’’ said Clément, in an under- 
tone. ‘‘ We are a little too big.”’ 

The judge’s hearing was keen enough to catch these words, 
which brought a cloud to the Marquis’ brow. Popinot took 
pleasure in contemplating the picture of the father and his 
boys. His eyes went back with a sense of pathos to M. 
d’Espard’s face ; his features, his expression, and his manner 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 361 


all expressed honesty in its noblest aspect, intellectual and 
chivalrous honesty, nobility in all its beauty. 

‘«¢ You—you see, monsieur,’’ said the Marquis, and his hesi- 
tation had returned, ‘‘ you see that Justice may look in—in 
here at any time—yes, at any time—here. If there is any- 
body crazy, it can only be the children—the children—who 
are a little crazy about their father, and the father who is 
very crazy about his children—but that sort of madness rings 
tities 7 : 

At this juncture Madame Jeanrenaud’s voice was heard in 
the anteroom, and the good woman came bustling in, in spite 
of the manservant’s remonstrances. 

“I take no roundabout ways, I can tell you!’’ she ex- 
claimed. ‘‘ Yes, Monsieur le Marquis, I want to speak to 
you, this very minute,’’ she went on, with a comprehensive 
bow to the company. ‘‘ By George, and I am too late as it 
is, since monsieur the criminal judge is before me.” 

<¢ Criminal !’’ cried the two boys. 

‘*Good reason why I did not find you at your own house, 
since you are here. Well, well! the law is always to the fore 
when there is mischief brewing. I came, Monsieur le Mar- 
quis, to tell you that my son and I are of one mind to give 
you everything back, since our honor is threatened. My son 
and I, we had rather give you back everything than cause you 
the smallest trouble. My word, they must be as stupid as 
pans without handles to call you a lunatic sf 

‘©A lunatic! My father?’’ exclaimed the boys, clinging to 
the Marquis. ‘‘ What is this?’”’ 

«Silence, madame,”’ said Popinot. 

«‘Children, leave us,’’ said the Marquis. 

The two boys went into the garden without a word, but 
very much alarmed. 

‘‘Madame,”’ said the judge, ‘‘ the moneys paid to you by 
Monsieur le Marquis were legally due, though given to you in 
virtue of a very far-reaching theory of honesty. If all the 





362 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


people possessed of confiscated goods, by whatever cause, even 
if acquired by treachery, were compelled to make restitution 
every hundred and fifty years, there would be few legitimate 
owners in France. The possessions of Jacques Coeur enriched 
twenty noble families; the confiscations pronounced by the 
English to the advantage of their adherents at the time when 
they held a part of France made the fortune of several princely 
houses. 

‘*OQur laws allow M. d’Espard to dispose of his income 
without accounting for it, or suffering him to be accused of its 
misapplication. A commission in lunacy can only be granted 
when a man’s actions are devoid of reason; but in this case 
the remittances made to you have a reason based on the most 
sacred and most honorable motives. Hence you may keep it 
all without remorse, and leave the world to misinterpret a 
noble action. In Paris, the highest virtue is the object of the 
foulest calumny. It is, unfortunately, the present condition 
of society that makes the Marquis’ actions sublime. For the 
honor of my country, I would that such deeds were regarded 
as a matter of course; but, as things are, I am forced by com- 
parison to look upon M. d’Espard as a man to whom a crown 
should be awarded, rather than that he should be threatened 
with a commission in lunacy. 

‘‘In the course of a long professional career, I have seen 
and heard nothing which has touched me more deeply than 
that I have just seen and heard. But it is not extraordinary 
that virtue should wear its noblest aspect when it is practiced 
by men of the highest class. 

‘‘ Having heard me express myself in this way, I hope, 
Monsieur le Marquis, that you feel certain of my silence, and 
that you will not for a moment be uneasy as to the decision 
pronounced in the case—if it comes before the court.’’ 

““There, now! Well said,’’ cried Madame Jeanrenaud 
‘¢ That is something like a judge! Look here, my dear sir, I 
would hug you if I were not so ugly; you speak like a book.”’ 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 363 


The Marquis held out his hand to Popinot, who gently 
pressed it with a look full of sympathetic comprehension at 
this great man in private life, and the Marquis responded with 
a pleasant smile. ‘These two natures, both so large and full 
—one commonplace but divinely kind, the other lofty and 
sublime—had fallen into unison gently, without a jar, without 
a flash of passion, as though two pure lights had been merged 
into one. The father of a whole district felt himself worthy 
to grasp the hand of this man who was doubly noble, and the 
Marquis felt in the depths of his soul an instinct that told 
him that the judge’s hand was one of those from which the 
treasures of inexhaustible beneficence perennially flow. 

‘‘Monsieur le Marquis,’’ added Popinot, with a bow, ‘I 
am happy to be able to tell you that, from the first words of 
this inquiry, I regarded my clerk as quite unnecessary.”’ 

He went close to M. d’Espard, led him into the window- 
bay, and said: ‘‘It is time that you should return home, 
monsieur. I believe that Madame la Marquise has acted in 
this matter under an influence which you ought at once to 
counteract,’’ 

Popinot withdrew; he looked back several times as he 
crossed the courtyard, touched by the recollection of the 
scene. It was one of those which take root in the memory to 
blossom again in certain hours when the soul seeks consolation. 

‘¢ Those rooms would just suit me,’’ said he to himself as he 
reached home. ‘‘ If M. d’Espard leaves them, I will take up 
his lease.”’ 


The next day, at about ten in the morning, Popinot, who 
had written out his report the previous evening, made his way 
to the Palais de Justice, intending to have prompt and right- 
eous justice done. As he went into the robing-room to put 
on his gown and bands, the usher told him that the president 
of his court begged him to attend in his private room, where 
he was waiting for him. Popinot forthwith obeyed. 


" 364 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 


rade) 


‘Good morning, my dear Popinot,’’ said the president, 
“‘T have been waiting for you.”’ 

‘Why, Monsieur le Président, is anything wrong ?”’ 

‘‘ A mere silly trifle,’ said the president. ‘‘ The Keeper 
of the Seals, with whom I had the honor of dining yesterday, 
led me apart into a corner. He had heard that you had been 
to tea with Madame d’Espard, in whose case you were em- 
ployed to make inquiries. He gave me to understand that it 
would be as well that you should not sit on this case e 

‘‘But, Monsieur le Président, I can prove that I left Ma- 
dame d’Espard’s house at the moment when tea was brought 
in. And my conscience K 

“Yes, yes; the whole bench, the two courts, all the pro- 
fession know you. I need not repeat what I said about you 
to his eminence ; but you know, ‘ Cesar’s wife must not be 
suspected.’ So we shall not make this foolish trifle a matter 
of discipline, but only of the proprieties. Between ourselves, 
it is not on your account, but on that of the bench.’’ 

“« But, indeed, monsieur, if you only just knew the kind of 
woman ”’ said the judge, trying to pull his report out of 
his pocket. 

‘‘T am perfectly certain that you have proceeded in this 
matter with the strictest independence of judgment. I myself, 
in the provinces, have often taken more than a cup of tea 
with the people I had to try: but the fact that the Keeper of 
the Seals should have mentioned it, and that you might be 
talked about, is enough to make the court avoid any discus- 
sion of the matter. Any conflict with public opinion must 
always be dangerous for a constitutional body, even when the 
right is on its side against the public, because their weapons 
are not equal. Journalism may say or suppose anything, and 
our dignity forbids us even to reply. In fact, I have spoken 
of the matter to your president, and M. Camusot has been 
appointed in your place on your retirement, which you will 
signify. It is a family matter, so to speak. And I now beg 











THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY. 365 


you to signify your retirement from the case as a personal 
favor. To make up, you will get the Cross of the Legion of 
Honor, which has so long been due to you. I make that my 
business.”’ . 

When he saw M. Camusot, a judge recently called to Paris 
from a provincial court of the same class, as he went forward 
bowing to the judge and the president, Popinot could not 
repress an ironical smile. This pale, fair young man, full of 
covert ambition, looked ready to hang and unhang, at the 
pleasure of any earthly king, the innocent and the guilty 
alike, and to follow the example of a Laubardemont rather than 
that of a Molé. 

Popinot withdrew with a bow; he scorned to deny the 
lying accusation that had been brought against him, 


Paris, February, 1836. 





THE ATHEIST’S MASS. 


(La Messe de 1 Athée.) 


Translated by CLara BELL. 


This ts dedicated to Auguste Borget by his triend De Balzac. 


BIANCHON, a2 physician to whom science owes a fine system 
of theoretical physiology, and who, while still young, made 
himself a celebrity in the medical school of Paris, that cen- 
tral luminary to which European doctors do homage, practiced 
surgery for a long time before he took up medicine. His 
earliest studies were guided by one of the greatest of French 
surgeons, the illustrious Desplein, who flashed across science 
like a meteor. By the consensus even of his enemies, he took 
with him to the tomb an incommunicable method. Like all 
men of genius, he had no heirs; he carried everything in 
him, and carried it away with him. The glory of a surgeon 
is like that of an actor; they live only so long as they are 
alive, and their talent leaves no trace when they are gone. 
Actors and surgeons, like great singers too, like the executants 
who by their performance increase the power of music tenfold, 
are all the heroes of a moment. 

Desplein is a case in proof of this resemblance in the 
destinies of such transient genius. His name, yesterday so 
famous, to-day almost forgotten, will survive in his special 
department without crossing its limits. For must there not 
be some extraordinary circumstances to exalt the name of a 
professor from the history of science to the general history of 
the human race? Had Desplein that universal command of 
knowledge which makes a man the living word, the great 
figure of his age? Desplein had a godlike eye ; he saw into 
the sufferer and his malady by an intuition, natural or 
acquired, which enabled him to grasp the diagnostics peculiar 

(366) 


THE ATHEIST?'S MASS. 387 


to the individual, to determine the very time, the hour, the 
minute when an operation should be performed, making due 
allowance for atmospheric conditions and peculiarities of 
individual temperament. ‘To proceed thus, hand in hand 
with nature, had he then studied the constant assimilation by 
living beings, of the elements contained in the atmosphere, or 
yielded by the earth to man who absorbs them, deriving from 
them a particular expression of life? Did he work it all out 
by the power of deduction and analogy, to which we owe the 
genius of Cuvier? Be this as it may, this man was in all the 
secrets of the human frame ; he knew it in the past and in the 
future, emphasizing the present. 

But did he epitomize all science in his own person as Hip- 
pocrates did and Galen and Aristotle? Did he guide a whole 
school towards new worlds? No. ‘Though it is impossible 
to deny that this persistent observer of human chemistry pos- 
sessed the antique science of the Mages, that is to say, knowl- 
edge of the elements in fusion, the causes of life, life ante- 
cedent to life, and what it must be in its incubation or ever it 
ts, it must be confessed that, unfortunately, everything in him 
was purely personal. Isolated during his life by his egoism, 
that egoism is now suicidal of his glory. On his tomb there 
is no proclaiming statue to repeat to posterity the mysteries 
which genius seeks out at its own cost. 

But perhaps Desplein’s genius was answerable for his beliefs, 
and for that reason mortal. To him the terrestrial atmos- 
phere was a generative envelope; he saw the earth as an egg 
within its shell ; and not being able to determine whether the 
egg or the hen first was, he would not recognize either the 
cock or the egg. He believed neither in the antecedent 
animal nor the surviving spirit of man. Desplein had no 
doubts ; he was positive. His bold and unqualified atheism 
was like that of many scientific men, the best men in the 
world, but invincible atheists—atheists such as reiigious people 
declare to be impossible. This opinion could scarcely exist 


368 LHE ATHEIST’ S MASS. 


otherwise in a man who was accustomed from his youth to 
dissect the creature above all others—before, during, and 
after life; to hunt through all his organs without ever finding 
the individual soul, which is indispensable to religious theory. 
When he detected a cerebral centre, a nervous centre, and a 
centre for aerating the blood—the <wo first so perfectly com- 
plementary that in the latter years of his life he came to a 
conviction that the sense of hearing is not absolutely neces- 
sary for hearing, nor the sense of sight for seeing, and that 
the solar plexus could supply their place without any pos- 
sibility of doubt—Desplein, thus finding two souls in man, 
confirmed his atheism by this fact, though it is no evidence 
against God. This man died, it is said, in final impenitence, 
as do, unfortunately, many noble geniuses, whom God may 
forgive. 

The life of this man, great as he was, was marred by many 
meannesses, to use the expression employed by his enemies, 
who were anxious to diminish his glory, but which it would be 
more proper to call apparent contradictions. Envious people 
and fools, having no knowledge of the determinations by 
which superior spirits are moved, seize at once on superficial 
inconsistencies, to formulate an accusation and so to pass 
sentence on them. If, subsequently, the proceedings thus 
attacked are crowned with success, showing the correlation of 
the preliminaries and the results, a few of the vanguard of 
calumnies always survive. In our own day, for instance, 
Napoleon was condemned by our contemporaries when he 
spread his eagle’s wings to alight in Fngland: only 1822 could 
explain 1804 and the flatboats at Boulogne. 

As, in Desplein, his glory and science were invulnerable, his 
enemies attacked his odd moods and his temper, whereas, in 
fact, he was simply characterized by what the English call 
eccentricity. Sometimes very handsomely dressed, like Cré- 
billon the tragical, he would suddenly affect extreme indiffer- 
ence as to what he wore ; he was sometimes seen in a carriage, 


THE ATHEIST’ S MASS. 369 


and sometimes on foot. By turns rough and kind, harsh and 
covetous on the surface, but capable of offering his whole 
fortune to his exiled masters—who did him the honor of 
accepting it for a few days—no man ever gave rise to such 
contradictory judgments. Although to obtain a black ribbon, 
which physicians ought not to intrigue for, he was capable of 
dropping a prayer-book out of his pocket at Court, in his heart 
he mocked at everything ; he had a deep contempt for men, 
after studying them from above and below, after detecting 
their genuine expression when performing the most solemn 
and the meanest acts of their lives. 

The qualities of a great man are often federative. If among 
these colossal spirits one has more talent than wit, his wit is 
still superior to that of a man of whom it is simply stated that 
‘‘he is witty.”’ Genius always presupposes moral insight. 
This insight may be applied to a special subject ; but he who 
can see a flower must be able to see the sun. The man who on 
hearing a diplomate he had saved ask, ‘‘ How is the Emperor ?”’ 
could say, ‘‘ The courtier is alive; the man will follow! ’’— 
that man is not merely a surgeon or a physician, he is prodig- 
iously witty also. Hence a patient and: diligent student of 
human nature will admit Desplein’s exorbitant pretensions, 
and believe—as he himself believed—that he might have been 
no less great as a minister than he was as a surgeon. 

Among the riddles which Desplein’s life presents to many 
of his contemporaries, we have chosen one of the most inter- 
esting, because the answer is to be found at the end of the 
narrative, and will avenge him for some foolish charges. 

Of all the students in Desplein’s hospital, Horace Bianchon 
was one of those to whom he most warmly attached himself. 
Before being a house surgeon at the H6tel-Dieu, Horace 
Bianchon had been a medical student lodging in a squalid 
boarding-house in the Quartier Latin, known as the Maison 
Vauquer. This poor young man had felt there the gnawing 
of that burning poverty which isa sort of crucible from which 

24 
% 


\e 


370 THE ATHEIST’S MASS. 


great talents are to emerge as pure and incorruptible as 
diamonds, which may be subjected to any shock without being 
crushed. In the fierce fire of their unbridled passions they 
acquire the most impeccable honesty, and get into the habit 
of fighting the battles which await genius with the constant 
work by which they coerce their cheated appetites. 

Horace was an upright young fellow, incapable of tergiver- 
sation on a matter of honor, going to the point without waste 
of words, and as ready to pledge his cloak for a friend as to 
give him his time and his night hours. Horace, in short, was 
one of those friends who are never anxious as to what they 
may get in return for what they give, feeling sure that they 
will in their turn get more than they give. Most of his 
friends felt for him that deeply-seated respect which is inspired 
by unostentatious virtue, and many of them dreaded his cen- 
sure. But Horace made no pedantic display of his qualities. 
He was neither a puritan nor a preacher; he could swear with 
a grace as he gave his advice, and was always ready for a 
jollification when occasion offered. A jolly companion, not 
more prudish than a trooper, as frank and outspoken—not as 
a sailor, for nowadays sailors are wily diplomates—but as an 
honest man who has nothing in his life to hide, he walked 
with his head erect, and a mind content. In short, to put 
the facts into a word, Horace was the Pylades of more than 
one Orestes—creditors being regarded as the nearest modern 
equivalent to the Furies of the ancients. 

He carried his poverty with the cheerfulness which is per- 
haps one of the chief elements of courage, and, like all people 
who have nothing, he made very few debts. As sober as a 
camel and active as a stag, he was steadfast in his ideas and 
his conduct. 

The happy phase of Bianchon’s life began on the day when 
the famous surgeon had proof of the qualities and the defects 
which, these no less than those, make Doctor Horace bian- 
chon doubly dear to his friends. When a leading clinical 


THE ATHETST’S MASS. 371 


practitioner takes a young man to his bosom, that young man 
has, as they say, his foot in the stirrup. Desplein did not fail 
to take Bianchon as his assistant to wealthy houses, where 
some complimentary fee almost always found its way into the 
student’s pocket, and where the mysteries of Paris life were 
insensibly revealed to the young provincial; he kept him at 
his side when a consultation was to be held, and gave him 
occupation ; sometimes he would send him to a watering- 
place with a rich patient; in fact, he was making a practice 
for him. The consequence was that in the course of time the 
king of surgery had a devoted ally. These two men—one at 
the summit of honor and of his science, enjoying an immense 
fortune and an immense reputation; the other an humble 
Omega, having neither fortune nor fame—became intimate 
friends. 

The great Desplein told his house surgeon everything ; the 
disciple knew whether such or such a woman had sat on a 
chair near the master, or on the famous couch in Desplein’s 
surgery, on which he slept; Bianchon knew the mysteries of 
that temperament, a compound of the lion and the bull, which 
at last expanded and enlarged beyond measure the great man’s 
torso, and caused his death by degeneration of the heart. 
He studied the eccentricities of that busy life, the schemes of 
that sordid avarice, the hopes of the politician who lurked 
behind the man of science ; he was able to foresee the mortifi- 
cations that awaited the only sentiment that lay hid in a heart 
that was steeled, but not of steel. 

One day Bianchon spoke to Desplein of a poor water- 
carrier of the Saint-Jacques district, who had a horrible dis- 
ease caused by fatigue and want; this wretched Auvergnat 
had had nothing but potatoes to eat during the dreadful win- 
ter of 1822. Desplein left all his visits, and, at the risk of 
killing his horse, he rushed off, followed by Bianchon, to the 
poor man’s dwelling, and saw, himself, to his being removed 
to a sick house, founded by the famous Dubois in the Faubourg 


372 THE ATHEIST’S MASS, 


Saint-Denis. Then he went to attend the man, and when he 
had cured him he gave him the necessary sum to buy a horse 
and a water-barrel. This Auvergnat distinguished himself by 
an amusing action. One of his friends fell ill, and he took 
him at once to Desplein, saying to his benefactor, ‘‘I could 
not have borne to let him go to any one else !”’ 

Rough customer as he was, Desplein grasped the water- 
carrier’s hand, and said, ‘‘ Bring them all to me! Bring 
them all to me!’’ 

He got the nativé of Cantal into the Hétel-Dieu, where he 
took the greatest care of him. Bianchon had already ob- 
served in his chief a predilection for Auvergnats, and especially 
for water-carriers ; but as Desplein took a sort of pride in his 
cures at the Hétel-Dieu, the pupil saw nothing very strange 
in that. 

One day, as he crossed the Place Saint-Sulpice, Bianchon 
caught sight of his master going into the church at about nine 
in the morning. Desplein, who at that time never went a 
step without his cab, was on foot, and slipped in by the door 
in the Rue du Petit-Lion, as if he were stealing into some 
house of ill-fame. The house surgeon, naturally possessed 
by curiosity, knowing his master’s opinions, and being him- 
self arabid follower of Cabanis (Caédaniste en dyable, with the 
y, which in Rabelais seems to convey an intensity of deviltry) 
—Buianchon stole into the church, and was not a little aston- 
ished to see the great Desplein, the atheist, who had no mercy 
on the angels—who give no work to the lancet, and cannot 
suffer from fistula or gastritis—in short, this audacious scoffer 
kneeling humbly, and where? In the Lady Chapel, where he 
remained through the mass, giving alms for the expenses of 
the service, alms for the poor, and looking as serious as though 
he were superintending an operation. 

‘¢ We has certainly not come here to clear up the question 
of the Virgin’s delivery,’’ said Bianchon to himself, aston- 
ished beyond measure. ‘‘If I had caught him holding one 


LAE ATH EISES MASS: 373 


of the ropes of the canopy on Corpus Christi day, it would be 
a thing to laugh at; but at this hour, alone, with no one to 
see—it is surely a thing to marvel at !’”’ 

Bianchon did not wish to seem as though he were spying 
the head surgeon of the Hétel-Dieu; he went away. As it 
happened, Desplein asked him to dine with him that day, not 
at his own house, but at a restaurant. At dessert Bianchon 
skilfully contrived to talk of the mass, speaking of it as mum- 
mery and a farce. 

** A farce,’’ said Desplein, ‘‘ which has cost Christendom 
more blood than all Napoleon’s battles and all Broussais’ 
leeches. The mass is a papal invention, not older than the 
sixth century, and based on the “oc est corpus. What floods 
of blood were shed to establish the Féte-Dieu, the Festival of 
Corpus Christi—the institution by which Rome established 
her triumph in the question of the Real Presence, a schism 
which rent the Church during three centuries! The wars of 
the Count of Toulouse against the Albigenses were the tail 
end of that dispute. The Vaudois and the Albigenses refused 
to recognize this innovation.”’ 

In short, Desplein was delighted to disport himself in his 
most atheistical vein; a flow of Voltairian satire, or, to be 
accurate, a vile imitation of the Cifateur. 

‘* Hallo! where is my worshiper of this morning ?”’ said 
Bianchon to himself. 

He said nothing ; he began to doubt whether he had really 
seen his chief at Saint-Sulpice. Desplein would not have 
troubled himself to tell Bianchon a lie, they knew each other 
too well; they had already exchanged thoughts on quite 
equally serious subjects, and discussed systems de natura 
rerum (a quotation monger), probing or dissecting them with 
the knife and scalpel of incredulity. 

Three months went by. Bianchon did not attempt to 
follow the matter up, though it remained stamped on his 
memory. One day that year, one of the physicians of the 


374 THE ATHETST’S MASS. 


H6tel-Dieu took Desplein by the arm, as if to question him, 
in Bianchon’s presence. 

‘¢ What were you doing at Saint-Sulpice, my dear master? ”’ 
said he. 

*«T went to see a priest who has a diseased knee-bone, and 
to whom the Duchesse d’Angouléme did me the honor to 
recommend me,’’ said Desplein. 

The questioner took this defeat for an answer; not so 
Bianchon. 

‘Oh, he goes to see damaged knees in church! He went 
to mass,’’ said the young man to himself. 

Bianchon resolved to watch Desplein. He remembered the 
day and hour when he had detected him going into Saint- 
Sulpice, and resolved to be there again next year on the same 
day and at the same hour, to see if he should find him there 
again. In that case the periodicity of his devotions would 
justify a scientific investigation; for in such a man there 
ought to be no direct antagonism of thought and action. 

Next year, on the said day and hour, Bianchon, who had 
already ceased to be Desplein’s house surgeon, saw the 
great man’s cab standing at the corner of the Rue du 
Petit-Lion, whence his friend jesuitically crept along by the 
wall of Saint-Sulpice, and once more attended mass in front 
of the Virgin’s altar. It was Desplein, sure enough! The 
master-surgeon, the atheist at heart, the worshiper by chance. 
The mystery was greater than ever; the regularity of the 
phenomenon complicated it. When Desplein had left, 
Bianchon went to the sacristan, who took charge of the 
chapel, and asked him whether the gentleman was a constant 
worshiper. 

‘‘For twenty years that I have been here,’’ replied the 
man, ‘‘ M. Desplein has come four times a year to attend this 
mass. He founded it.’’ 

‘©A mass founded by him!”’ said Bianchon, as he went 
away. ‘‘ This is as great a mystery as the Immaculate Con- 


THE ATHEISTS MASS. 375 


ception—an article which alone is enough to make a physician 
an unbeliever.”’ 

Some time elapsed before Doctor Bianchon, though so much 
his friend, found an opportunity of speaking to Desplein of 
this incident of his life. Though they met in consultation or 
in society, it was difficult to find an hour of confidential soli- 
tude when, sitting with their feet on the fire-dogs and their 
heads resting on the back of an armchair, two men tell each 
other their secrets. At last, seven years later, after the 
Revolution of 1830, when the mob invaded the Archbishop’s 
residence, when Republican agitators spurred them on to de- 
stroy the gilt crosses which flashed like streaks of lightning in 
the immensity of the ocean of houses; when incredulity 
flaunted itself in the streets, side by side with rebellion, 
Bianchon once more detected Desplein going into Saint- 
Sulpice. The doctor followed him, and knelt down by him 
without the slightest notice or demonstration of surprise from 
his friend. They both attended this mass of his founding. 

«* Will you tell me, my dear fellow,’’ said Bianchon, as they 
left the church, ‘‘ the reason for your fit of monkishness? I 
have caught you three times going to mass You! You 
must account to me for this mystery, explain such a flagrant 
disagreement between your opinions and your conduct. You 
do not believe in God, and yet you attend mass. My dear 
master, you are bound to give me an answer.”’ 

‘‘T am like a great many devout people, men who on the 
surface are deeply religious, but quite as much atheists as you 
or I can be.” 

And he poured out a torrent of epigrams on certain politi- 
cal personages, of whom the best known gives us, in this cen- 
tury, a new edition of Moliére’s ‘‘ Tartufe.’’ 

‘©All that has nothing to do with my question,’’ retorted 
Bianchon. ‘‘I want to know the reason for what you have 
just been doing, and why you founded this mass.’’ 

««Faith! my dear boy,”’ said Desplein, ‘‘ I am on the verge 





376 THE ATHEISTS MASS: 


of the tomb; I may safely tell you about the beginning of 
my life.’’ 

At this moment Bianchon and the great man were in the 
Rue des Quatre-Vents, one of the worst streets in Paris. 
Desplein pointed to the sixth floor of one of the houses look- 
ing like obelisks, of which the narrow door opens into a 
passage with a winding staircase at the end, with windows 
appropriately termed ‘‘ borrowed lights,’’ or, in French, days 
of affliction. It was a greenish structure; the ground floor 
occupied by a furniture dealer, while each floor seemed to 
shelter a different and independent form of misery. Throw- 
ing up his arm with a vehement gesture, Desplein exclaimed— 

‘<T lived up there for two years.”’ 

‘IT know; Arthez lived there; I went up there almost 
every day during my first youth ; we used to call it then the 
pickle-jar of great men! What then?’’ 

‘¢The mass I have just attended is connected with some 
events which took place at the time when I lived in the garret 
where you say Arthez lived: the one with the window where 
the clothes-line is hanging with linen over a pot of flowers. 
My early life was so hard, my dear Bianchon, that I may dis- 


“pute the palm of Paris suffering with any man living. I have 


endured everything: hunger and thirst, want of money, want 
of clothes, of shoes, of linen, every cruelty that penury can 
inflict. I have blown on my frozen fingers in that pickle-jar 
of great men, which I should like to see again, now, with you. 
I worked through a whole winter, seeing my head steam, and 
perceiving the atmosphere of my own moisture as we see that 
of horses on a frosty day. I do not know where a man 
finds the fulcrum that enables him to hold out against such a 
life. 

“‘T was alone, with no one to help me, no money to buy 
books or to pay the expenses of my medical training; I had 
not a friend; my irascible, touchy, restless temper was against 
me. No one understood that this irritability was the distress 


THE ATHEIST’ S MASS. 377 


ana toil of a man who, at the bottom of the social scale, is 
struggling to reach the surface. Still, I had, as I may say to ‘ 
you, before whom I need wear no draperies, I had that ground- 
bed of good feeling and keen sensitiveness which must always 
be the birthright of any man who is strong enough to climb 
to any height whatever, after having long trampled in the 
bogs of poverty. I could obtain nothing from my family, 
nor from my home, beyond my inadequate allowance. In 
short, at that time, I breakfasted off a roll which the baker in 
the Rue du Petit-Lion sold me cheap because it was left from 
yesterday or the day before, and I crumbled it into milk; 
thus my morning meal cost me but two sous. I dined only 
every other day in a boarding-house where the meal cost me 
sixteen sous. You know as well as I what care I must have 
taken of myclothes and shoes. I hardly know whether in 
later life we feel grief so deep when a colleague plays us false, 
as we have known, you and I, on detecting the mocking smile 
of a gaping seam in a shoe, or hearing the armhole of a coat 
split. I drank nothing but water; I regarded a café with dis- 
tant respect. Zoppi’s seemed to me a promised land where 
none but the Lucullus of the pays Latin had a right of entry. 
‘Shall I ever take a cup of coffee there with milk in it?’ said 
I to myself, ‘ or play a game of dominoes?’ 

<¢T threw into my work the fury I felt at my misery. I tried to 
master positive knowledge so as to acquire the greatest personal 
value, and merit the position I should hold as soon as I could 
escape from nothingness. I consumed more oil than bread; 
the light I burned during these endless nights cost me more 
than food. It was a long duel, obstinate, with no sort of con- 
solation. I found no sympathy anywhere. To have friends 
must we not form connections with young men, have a few 
sous so as to be able to go tippling with them and meet them 
where students congregate? And I had nothing! And no 
one in Paris can understand that nothing means nothing. 
When i even thought of revealing my beggary, I had that 


oF THE ATHETIST’S MASS. 


nervous contraction of the throat which makes a sick man 
believe that a ball rises up from the cesophagus into the larynx. 

“In later life I have met people born to wealth who, never 
having wanted for anything, had never even heard this 
problem in the rule of three: A young man is to crime as a 
five-franc piece is to x. These gilded idiots say to me, ‘Why 
did you get into debt? Why did you involve yourself in 
such onerous obligations?’ They remind me of the princess 
who, on hearing that the people lacked bread, said, ‘ Why do 
they not buy cakes?’ Ishould like to see one of these rich 
men, who complain that I charge too much for an operation, 
—yes, I should like to see him aione in Paris without a sou, 
without a friend, without credit, and forced to work with his 
five fingers to live at all! What would he do? Where would 
he go to satisfy his hunger ? 

‘* Bianchon, if you have sometimes seen me hard and bitter, 
it was because I was adding my early sufferings on to the in- 
sensibility, the selfishness of which I have seen thousands of 
instances in the highest circles; or, perhaps, I was thinking 
of the obstacles which hatred, envy, jealousy, and calumny 
raised up between me and success. In Paris, when certain 
people see you ready to set your foot in the stirrup, some pull 
your coat-tails, others loosen the buckle of the strap that you 
may fall and crack your skull; one wrenches off your horse’s 
shoes, another steals your whip, and the least treacherous of 
them all is the man whom you see coming to fire his pistol at 
you point-blank. 

‘‘ You yourself, my dear boy, are clever enough to make 
acquaintance before long with the odious and incessant war- 
fare waged by mediocrity against the superior man. If you 
should drop five and twenty louis one day, you will be accused 
of gambling on the next, and your best friends will report 
that you have lost twenty-five thousand. If you have a head- 
ache, you will be considered mad. If you are a little hasty, 
no one can live with you. If, to make a stand against this 


THE ATHETST’S MASS. 379 


armament of pigmies, you collect your best powers, your best 
friends will cry out that you want to have everything, that 
you aim at domineering, at tyranny. In short, your good 
points will become your faults, your faults will be vices, and 
your virtues crimes. 

“If you save a man, you will be said to have killed him; 
if he reappears on the scene, it will be positive that you have 
secured the present at the cost of the future. If he is not 
dead, he will die. Stumble, and you fall! Invent anything 
of any kind and claim your rights, you will be crotchety, cun- 
ning, ill-disposed to rising younger men. 

«So, you see, my dear fellow, if I do not believe in God, 
I believe still less in man. But do you not know in me 
another Desplein, altogether different from the Desplein whom 
every one abuses? However, we will not stir that mud-heap. 

‘¢ Well, I was living in that house, I was working hard to 
pass my first examination, and I had no money at all. You 
know. I had come to one of those moments of extremity 
when a man says, ‘I will enlist.’ I had one hope. I expected 
from my home a box full of linen, a present from one of 
those old aunts who, knowing nothing of Paris, think of your 
shirts, while they imagine that their nephew with thirty francs 
a month is eating ortolans. The box arrived while I was at 
the schools; it had cost forty francs for carriage. The porter, 
a German shoemaker living in a loft, had paid the money 
and kept the box. I walked up and down the Rue des Fossés- 
Saint-Germain-des-Prés and the Rue de l’Ecole de Médecine 
without hitting on any scheme which would release my trunk 
without the payment of the forty francs, which of course I 
could pay as soon as I should have sold the linen. My stu- 
pidity proved to me that surgery was my only vocation. My 
good fellow, refined souls, whose powers move in a lofty 
atmosphere, have none of that spirit of intrigue that is fertile 
in resource and device; their good genius is chance; they do 
not invent, things come to them. 


380 THE ATHETIST’S MASS. 


‘‘At night I went home, at the very moment when my 
fellow-lodger also came in—a water-carrier named Bourgeat, 
a native of Saint-Flour. We knew each other as two lodgers 
do who have rooms off the same landing, and who hear each 
other sleeping, coughing, dressing, and so at last become used 
to one another. My neighbor informed me that the landlord, 
to whom I owed three-quarters’ rent, had turned me out; I 
must clear out next morning. He himself was also turned 
out on account of his occupation. I spent the most miserable 
night of my life. Where was I to get a messenger who could 
carry my few chattels and my books ? How could I pay him 
and the porter? Where was I to go? I repeated these 
unanswerable questions again and again, in tears, as madmen 
repeat their tunes. I fell asleep; poverty has for its friend 
heavenly slumbers full of beautiful dreams. 

‘¢ Next morning, just as I was swallowing my little bow] of 
bread soaked in milk, Bourgeat came in and said to me in his 
vile Auvergne accent— 

‘«¢ Mister Student, I am a very poor man, a foundling 
from the hospital at Saint-Flour, without either father or 
mother, and not rich enough to marry. You are not fertile 
in relations either, nor well supplied with the ready? Listen, 
I have a hand-cart downstairs which I have hired for two sous 
an hour; it will hold all our goods ; if you like, we will try 
to find lodgings together, since we are both turned out of this. 
It is not the earthly paradise, when all is said and done.’ 

*««T know that, my good Bourgeat,’ said I. ‘But I am in 
a great fix. J have a trunk downstairs with a hundred francs’ 
worth of linen in it, out of which I could pay the landlord 
and all I owe to the porter, and I have not a hundred sous.’ 

*©* Pooh! I have a few dibs,’ replied Bourgeat joyfully, 
and he pulled out a greasy old leather purse. ‘Keep your 
linen.’ 

‘‘Bourgeat paid up my arrears and his own, and settled 
with the porter. Then he put our furniture and my box of 


THE ATHETST’S MASS. 381 


linen in his cart, and pulled it along the street, stopping in 
front of every house where there was a notice board. I went 
up to see whether the rooms to let would suit us. At mid-day 
we were still wandering about the neighborhood without 
having found anything. The price was the great difficulty. 
Bourgeat proposed that we should eat at a wine-shop, leaving 
the cart at the door. Towards evening I discovered, in the 
Cour de Rohan, Passage du Commerce, at the very top of a 
house next the roof, two rooms with a staircase between them. 
Each of us was to pay sixty francs a year. So there we were 
housed, my humble friend and I. We dined together. 
Bourgeat, who earned about fifty sous a day, had saved a hun- 
dred crowns or so; he would soon be able to gratify his 
ambition by buying a barrel and a horse. On learning my 
situation—for he extracted my secrets with a quiet craftiness 
and good-nature, of which the remembrance touches my heart 
to this day, he gave up for a time the ambition of his whole 
life ; for twenty-two years he had been carrying water in the 
street, and he now devoted his hundred crowns to my future 
prospects.”’ 

Desplein at these words clutched Bianchon’s arm tightly. 
‘He gave me the money for my examination fees! That 
man, my friend, understood that I had a mission, that the 
needs of my intellect were greater than his. He looked after 
me, he called me his boy, he loaned me money to buy books, 
he would come in softly sometimes to watch me at work, and 
took a mother’s care in seeing that I had wholesome and 
abundant food, instead of the bad and insufficient nourish- 
ment I had been condemned to. Bourgeat, a man of about 
forty, had a homely, medizval type of face, a prominent fore- 
head, a head that a painter might have chosen as a model for 
that of Lycurgus. ‘The poor man’s heart was big with affec- 
tions seeking an object; he had never ‘been loved but by a 
poodle that had died some time since, of which he would talk 
to me, asking whether I thought the Church would allow 


382 THE ATHEIST’ S MASS. 


masses to be said for the repose of its soul. His dog, said he, 
had been a good Christian, who for twelve years had accom- 
panied him to church, never barking, listening to the organ 
without opening his mouth, and crouching beside him in a 
way that made it seem as though he were praying too. 

‘‘This man centred all his affections in me; he looked 
upon me as a forlorn and suffering creature, and he became, 
to me, the most thoughtful mother, the most considerate 
benefactor, the ideal of the virtue which rejoices in its own 
work. When I met him in the street, he would throw me a 
glance of intelligence full of unutterable dignity; he would 
affect to walk as though he carried no weight, and seemed 
happy in seeing me in good health and well dressed. It was, 
in fact, the devoted affection of the lower classes, the love of 
a girl of the people transferred toa loftier level. Bourgeat 
did all my errands, woke me at night at any fixed hour, 
trimmed my lamp, cleaned our landing; as good as a servant 
as he was asa father, and as clean as an English girl. He 
did all the housework. Like Philopcemen, he sawed our wood, 
and gave to all he did the grace of simplicity while preserving 
his dignity, for he seemed to understand that the end ennobles 
every act. 

‘‘When I left this good fellow, to be house surgeon at the 
Hotel-Dieu, I felt an indescribable, dull pain, knowing that 
he could no longer live with me; but he comforted himself 
with the prospect of saving up money enough for me to take 
my degree, and he made me promise to go to see him when- 
ever I had a day out: Bourgeat was proud of me. He loved 
me for my own sake, and for his own. If you look up my 
thesis, you will see that I dedicated it to him. 

“‘During the last year of my residence as house surgeon I 
earned enough to repay all I owed to this worthy Auvergnat 
by buying him a barrel and a horse. He was furious with 
rage at learning that I had been depriving myself of spending 
my money, and yet he was delighted so see his wishes ful- 


THE ATHEISTS MASS. 383 


filled ; he laughed and scolded, he looked at his barrel, at his 
horse, and wiped away a tear, as he said, ‘It is too bad. 
What a splendid barrel! You really ought not. Why, that 
horse is as strong as an Auvergnat!’ 

««T never saw a more touching scene. Bourgeat insisted on 
buying for me the case of instruments mounted in silver which 
you have seen in my room, and which is to me the most _ pre- 
cious thing there. Though enchanted with my first success, 
never did the least sign, the least word, escape him which 
might imply, ‘This man owes all to me!’ And yet, but for 
him, I should have died of want. 

“He fell ill. As you may suppose, I passed my nights by 
his bedside, and the first time I pulled him through ; but two 
years after he had a relapse; in spite of the utmost care, in 
spite of the greatest exertions of science, he succumbed. No 
king was ever nursed as he was. Yes, Bianchon, to snatch 
that man from death I tried unheard-of things. I wanted 
him to live long enough to show him his work accomplished, 
to realize all his hopes, to give expression to the only need 
for gratitude that ever filled my heart, to quench a fire that 
burns in me to this day. 

‘* Bourgeat, my second father, died in my arms,’’ Desplein 
went on, after a pause, visibly moved. ‘‘ He left me every- 
thing he possessed by a will he had had made by a public 
scrivener, dating from the year when we had gone to live in 
the Cour de Rohan. 

‘< This man’s faith was perfect ; he loved the Holy Virgin 
as he might have loved his wife. He was an ardent Catholic, 
but never said a word to me about my want of religion. 
When he was dying he entreated me to spare no expense that he 
might have every possible benefit of the clergy. I had a mass 
said for him everyday. Often, in the night, he would tell me 
of his fears as to his future fate; he feared his life had not been 
saintly enough. Poor man! he was at work from morning 
till night. For whom, then, is paradise—if there be a 


384 THE ATHEIST’ S MASS. 


paradise? He received the last sacrament like the saint that 
he was, and his death was worthy of his life. 

“‘T alone followed him to the grave. When I had laid my 
only benefactor to rest, I looked about to see how I could pay 
my debt to him; I found he had neither family nor friends, 
neither wife nor child. But he believed. He had a religious 
conviction ; had I any right to dispute it? He had spoken 
to me timidly of masses said for the repose of the dead; he 
would not impress it on me as a duty, thinking that it would 
be a form of repayment for his services. As soon as I had 
money enough I paid to Saint-Sulpice the requisite sum for 
four masses every year. As the only thing I can do for 
Bourgeat is thus to satisfy his pious wishes, on the days when 
that mass is said, at the beginning of each season of the year, 
I go for his sake and say the required prayers; and I say with 
the good faith of a sceptic—‘ Great God, if there is a sphere 
which Thou hast appointed after death for those who have been 
perfect, remember good Bourgeat ; and if he should have any- 
thing to suffer, let me suffer it for him, that he may enter all 
the sooner into what is called paradise.’ 

“‘That, my dear fellow, is as much as a man who holds my 
opinions can allow himself. But God must be a good fellow ; 
He cannot owe me any grudge. I swear to you, I would give 
my whole fortune if faith such as Bourgeat’s could enter my 
brain.’’ 


Bianchon, who was with Desplein all through his last illness, 
dares not affirm to this day that the great surgeon died an 
atheist. Will not those who believe like to fancy that the 
humble Auvergnat came to open the gate of heaven to his 
friend, as he did that of the earthly temple on whose pedi- 
ment we read the words—‘‘ A grateful courtry te its great 
men.”’ 


* Paris, January, 1836. A 


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